


The Dalliance

by wordywarrior



Series: The Dalliance [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 62,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordywarrior/pseuds/wordywarrior
Summary: Exclusive and luxurious, The Dalliance is a members-only club that caters to a star studded and wealthy clientele. For Chris Evans, it’s a perfect distraction from a life of play-acting and obligation, but he quickly learns nothing is ever what it seems. Held hostage by extortion and longing to escape the past, Y/N Y/L/N’s only job as hired security is to maintain order and enforce the rules. Brought together by mere circumstance, the boundaries begin to blur, and they’re both forced to choose: play it safe or risk it all?





	1. Proligue: An Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, mental health issues, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content.

Of course, there was a mob. There was _always_ a mob. Coiffed, pressed, and trussed up to within an inch of their lives, of course, but a crush of gowns and ties none the less. As soon as he stepped out of the limo, the switch was flipped, and he was on. Slipping the mask into place, which had once been so uncomfortable, so untrue, was effortless now. So effortless, in fact, he never wanted to take it off. It had once been a type of coping mechanism – a façade, really – and now, it was a crutch he was using more and more every day.

Red carpet walking with blinding lights and deafening roars of the press. Faux embraces, air kisses, and jovial waves. Repetitive questions, presentations, and forced laughter. So much posing and awkward touching and his name being shouted from directions he didn’t even know existed. And helping a woman _not_ trip over her gown was a public statement of chivalry worthy of swoons and praises, instead of just something a polite fucking person would do?

Alcohol helped him relax during the after parties, but it also dulled everything, and ramped up the anxiety even more. It also made him want a cigarette, and as someone playing America’s hero, it was a big no-no, which meant he was relegated to that special class of asshole who inhaled deeply and enviously as he paced near the smokers and vapers who were too jaded to give a damn about appearances.

His family, as much as he loved them, was an anchor that both centered him and weighed him down. Incessant worry over their comfort, whether a compromising photo would be taken, and if what was said would be taken out of context… Double the booze meant double the nicotine craving, and chomping on gum was rude, but he did it anyway. Like a vicious cycle, a snake consuming its tail, around and around he went, and by the end of the night, he felt eviscerated.

It took two hours for the limo to crawl away from the madness and another two hours get home. Traffic in Los Angeles was always a bitch, and when the driver announced they were thirty minutes away, he shot off a text to the dog sitter, who was on standby to deliver his buddy. By the time they arrived at his house in Laurel Canyon, he was cross-eyed with exhaustion, and beyond ready to fall into bed.

The limo pulled out of the driveway just in time for his dog to arrive, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries and reports of good behavior, the sitter left. His canine best friend wriggled happily and headed for the house. H got dragged along, and heard a bark of protest when the door wasn’t immediately opened; a plain, brown box perched against the doorframe was what had distracted him. Too tired to think anything of it, he retrieved it, and tucked the thing under his arm.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured as he opened the way for the impatient dog. “Go on.”

A fitful night of sleep ate up a handful hours. Up at the ass crack of dawn, per usual. Work out, go for a walk with poop bags and leash in hand, and try to scrounge up something to eat from the bare minimum he kept in his cabinets, per usual. Shower, dress, check messages, per usual…

It was a routine that used to give him comfort.

Now, he was just going through the motions.

The package, dropped on the couch and forgotten the night before, caught his eye. The card perched on the top of the tissue paper inside was high quality stock, and whoever penned his name on the envelope looked as if they’d taken great care and time with every letter. The red seal, stamped in wax, looked like some sort of crest, but it was nothing he could place. Thinking it was some sort of elaborate post-Oscar gift, he cracked it open, and pulled out the card.

_Mr. Christopher Robert Evans,_

_Your esteemed presence is anticipated._

_-The Dalliance_

Bemused by the strange signature line, he peeled back the layers until the contents of the box were revealed. Tied in the center of a silk pillow was what appeared to be a white gold key, with a well-portioned ruby on the bow. On the back of the card was the crest again, this time etched, along with an unfamiliar phone number and address.

Now more than a little curious, Chris did a quick search on his phone, and was stunned at his inability to find anything other than some unrelated book titles and variations of the number he’d searched. Thinking he might’ve been sent the package by mistake, Chris checked the rest of the box for a return address, but there was nothing. Just when he was about to discard the whole lot of it, his phone lit up, and Sebastian’s name appeared on the screen.

The text included a photo of the same pillow, key, and invitation, along with an inquiry.

 _“I got one too,”_ he texted back.

_“Any ideas?”_

_“None.”_

_“Wanna find out?”_ came the reply.

Reason dictated Chris ignore whatever the hell had been sent to him, but the thrill of the unknown, and the jolt of adrenaline that accompanied it, had him hooked.

_“I’m in.”_


	2. Blue Bloods

**_Chapter One: Blue Bloods_ **

Y/N Y/L/N stared down at the crowd and kept a watchful eye out for any anything out of the ordinary. The club she was making time and money in was 25,000 square feet and was teeming. The main dance floor was a wide, gaping mouth of flesh and blood beneath the dim lights, all of it ebbing and flowing to a state-of-the-art sound system controlled by the city’s hottest DJ.

_The Dalliance_ was the exact opposite of everything the typical LA club scene offered. No lines, no fog machines, and no strobe lights. Nothing glowed in the dark, the floors weren’t made of sticky concrete, and nobody dared to sob over their drink or vomit on themselves.

Instead, bolts of crimson fabric hung from the ceiling, framing delicately lit crystal chandeliers, and the floors and walls were made of the finest black marble. If anyone was at the bar waiting to be served, their ass was seated on a high back stool covered in black velvet. Everything exuded class and exclusivity, from the quality of the bathroom towels, to the gold filigree covering the handrails and columns, to the gas lit fixtures that gave the hallways their glow. Depending on what night of the week it was, there were burlesque dancers and aerial shows. Any of the one-percenters who wanted to pay for the privilege of a private performance, or were simply too aroused by the festivities and needed a secluded place to fuck, were encouraged to make their desire for a private room known well in advance. 

This was an invitation and members-only type of place, and everything had a tongue-in-cheek, wink, and smile ambiance unseen in other establishments. Ladies had to wear dresses and men had to wear suits; those who showed up showed out, because for their class, there was no other way to be when enjoying a night on the town. The staff didn’t wear non-descript uniforms. Waiters in silk vests or suspenders with exposed chests and carefully styled hair; waitresses in corsets with crimson mouths, precariously perched top-hats, and teeter-inducing heels. They carried boards of elaborately crafted pastries, hors d oeuvres, and champagne; some were strapped with old-fashioned cigarette trays that offered an assortment of cocktails. No matter what they were serving, they all swirled like crows around the tables, looking for diamond-encrusted carcasses and heavy tippers. 

Patrons weren’t just born with silver spoons in their mouths – they had an entire set of silver, along with family jewels, yachts, and islands. This was the type of place with a high roller’s private entrance, protected by armed guards, and where a valet could make as much as six grand a night in tips. In places like this, drug use, sex, and other forms of inappropriate behavior were just too commonplace to stop; so, while none of the employees peddled or encouraged anything illegal, they were advised to look the other way. The finnicky nature of the blue-blooded, their far-reaching connections, along with their lawyers on standby, meant everyone employed knew what the deal was.

Amidst all the indulgence, Y/N’s job was to ensure press stayed out, nobody brawled, everyone was consenting and of age. Doing blow and ecstasy out in the open, getting sucked or finger-fucked, or downing copious amounts of alcohol – none of it mattered. Groping the staff was frowned upon and would get you a slap on the wrist by way of being disinvited to the year-end extravaganza. The only thing not tolerated, and resulted in immediate member dismissal, was violence. If a body dropped, business stopped, and reputations were tarnished.

The amount of illegal activity was precisely why all members and staff signed non-disclosure and liability waivers, and were required to stow away any device with the ability to photograph or record before being admitted. When entitled people were drunk and high, and compromising photos or video were taken, they tended to get tetchy, and Y/N was sure the possibility of bodily harm and profit loss were the only reasons she and her fellow guards weren’t trussed up and open to grab-hands the rest of the staff.

Then again, maybe it was the gun that kept the vultures at bay?

Their uniforms were practically standard issue military garb, so, it was a little on the aggressive side. Black cargo pants, matching t-shirt, leather holster, and steel-toed boots. Men were to keep tidy and weren’t allowed to grow facial hair. For women, no makeup or jewelry, buffed and trimmed nails with no polish, and hair pulled up and wound tightly in a knot at the base of the neck.

“Do you think he was looking at me?”

The voice of her partner, Quin Jenkins, was low and full of eagerness over her ear piece. After working together for the better part of two years, Y/N had grown accustomed to his incessant inquiries about the club’s owner.

“Probably,” she replied into the mic clipped to her chest.

“He’s got more money than God and isn’t bad to look at,” Quin asserted.

Y/N rolled her eyes and sighed, “Just put me out of my misery and go fuck him already.”

Quin’s laughter could be heard even over the music, but before he could reply, their boss, Margaret Duffy, appeared and stood between them.

Margaret was described by a lot of the clientele as uncommonly attractive for her age, and her stylishly cropped gray hair, tasteful clothing, and patrician face made her fit right in. Though everything about her appearance screamed understated and non-threatening, she was a retired Marine; she might’ve been pushing sixty, but she could still dislocate joints and empty a clip in seconds. She was also an owner of a highly-respected private security firm and in charge of the guards at _The Dalliance_ , which meant when Margaret crooked her well-manicured finger, Y/N had to obey.

When another guard appeared to take her place, she followed Margaret’s lead; a set of stairs, three velvet ropes, and a series of parted curtains saw them both to the back where the offices and employee areas were. Without hesitation, Y/N stayed on her boss’s six until they arrived at their destination.

The door in front of them, marked _Logan Hughes_ , meant something big was going down, or she was about to get fired. Careful to keep her face schooled, Y/N followed Margaret inside. The door barely made a sound as it shut behind them, and the closed quarters drowned out the din from the club entirely. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in the office and the grandeur still made her fight not to flinch.

The space revealed was more than triple the size of an average apartment and was filled with expensive furniture and even more expensive art. The theatre-sized flat screen television mounted on the wall was muted and playing security footage. Antique silver frames from Tiffany’s, housing a variety of photos with rich kids, their parents, and even some public officials, were displayed on built-in shelves. A liquor cabinet, probably an antique, was filled to the brim with top-shelf booze and conveniently situated near the desk. Ornate paperweights, a box of Cuban cigars, and the latest laptop and cellphone were on the coffee table. It was a rich man’s paradise and a thief’s wet dream.

It was also the stuff of her nightmares.

Logan was lounging behind his large, glass-top desk, and the jewels on his tie and finger winked when he sat forward and motioned for both she and Margaret to take a seat.

“Invitations have been sent and responses will be coming in soon,” he stated, handing off a folder to Margaret with a subtle nod. “Our guests will not only be rich – they’ll be famous, too.”

The list of names and accompanying information was perused without comment or even the slightest hint of being impressed, but that was always Margaret’s way. Y/N had also perfected the art of listening without expressing emotion, and kept silent while the two of them went over details. When dossiers were eventually handed to her without preamble, she examined the contents. 

Y/N recognized a lot of the names and any unrecognized meant they were still A-Listers, as they were the only ones with deep enough pockets and the pedigree to merit an invite. Logan was a peacock forever looking to improve his plumage, which meant those he surrounded himself with exhaled money from every orifice. If it weren’t for the chance Margaret had taken on her, along with the much-needed paycheck, she would just assume burn the entire fucking place down.

“We will need extra security on retainer and at the ready for arrival any time,” Logan explained.

“One guard per body is going to cost you,” Margaret told him bluntly.

“You know I can afford it.”

The only way to realistically cover her snort was to cough and Y/N hid it well enough to be offered water by both Margaret and Logan. She declined and pretended to listen with rapt attention while they continued to hammer stuff out. Why she’d been invited to attend the meeting was still a mystery, and wasn’t revealed until the tail end of the forty-five-minute chat.

“I’m going to need you to step up and help with assignments. It means additional hours and a significant salary bump, of course. Does that interest you?”

A million questions shot off rapid fire in her head, but she knew better than to ask them. If she wanted clarification on things pertaining to the job, or wanted to know just how much more money she’d make, Y/N had to ask privately.

After she nodded in acquiesce, Margaret was dismissed, and she was asked to stay. The older woman made it clear she would be waiting outside the door, as she wanted to get started on the arrangements, and needed Y/N back on the floor as soon as possible.

“I won’t take up too much of Ms. Y/L/N’s valuable time,” he assured.

“Ten minutes,” Margaret replied.

As soon as he was gone and the doors were closed, Logan sat back, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your partner, Quin. Is he seeing anyone?”

The inquiry was phrased in a rather remarkable way; cautiously, but with a sharp edge to it, as if he were waiting to hear Quin wasn’t available. Quin and Logan had been dancing around each other for quite some time, but given the conflict of interest, neither had acted. Apparently, that was about to change, and even though she wasn’t surprised, it did put her in an uncomfortable position.

It wasn’t that Logan wasn’t attractive; in fact, he was quite head-turning, and completely embodied what most people wanted in a partner. He was educated, commanding, well-connected, and was one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. He was tall, handsome, fit, and possessed a startling and surprisingly natural pair of jade-colored peepers.

He was also extremely intimidating and could easily shred her friend’s heart into a thousand pieces. 

“Well?” Logan prompted.

“I honestly don’t know,” she told him, trying to keep her voice firm, yet apologetic.

There was the barest rustle of fabric against leather as he sat back and crossed his arms, “Do you think he would be open to dating someone?”

Y/N swallowed hard and shrugged. Margaret said Logan had a delicate approach, but really, he was a battering ram -- ceaseless until he broke through and got what he wanted, and clearly, he wanted Quin.

From what she knew of Logan, he was a very private man with a very public persona; he was out and proud, but that was really all she knew about him. Quin was a serial dater who was susceptible to falling for flight risks and men who were incapable of being faithful. She’d seen him heartbroken before, but he always bounced back; this time, though, she had a feeling if Quin got romantically involved with Logan and was hurt, he might not recover.

“Would I be wasting my time on him, Y/N?”

Instinct made her want to protect her friend, but reason told her they were two, consenting adults, and if they wanted to give it ago, it wasn’t her place to stop either of them. Y/N wanted to tell him to nut up and shoot his shot, which is precisely what she told Quin to do, but such a blunt response from an employee would more than likely not be appreciated.

Thankfully, his cellphone rang a moment later, and whoever was calling was more important, because she was summarily dismissed.

Y/N left the office as quickly as possible, and as expected, Margaret was waiting just beyond the threshold. She was informed their meeting would have to wait before she was ordered to take her break and then, get back to work.

Per usual, she did as she was told.


	3. Chapter 2: RSVP'd

**Chapter 2: RSVP'd**

There were moments of peace – few and far between, but they were there. Like now, waking up beneath the weighted blanket, with Dodger right up against him – that was good. Breathing calm and heart rate steady, there was no reason to worry.

Except Chris needed groceries and his lazy pup needed food.

Stores offered many nooks, crannies, and corners, allowing ample opportunity for people to click, post, and eventually comment. Was he such a basket case as to get everything delivered? The circle argument that mulled around in his head was absolutely ridiculous and he knew it, but rationale had never stood a chance against his pestering thoughts.

He’d tried medication in the past, but it only left him feeling as if he were swimming a shit-filled pool of his own making. The various therapies Chris currently utilized were a hit-or-miss cornucopia of remedies catered to his very specific needs. Exercise for the aggression, journaling for the depression, Dodger for the panic attacks, and grounding techniques for the anxiety.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, and the therapist he’d been seeing had been trying for months to get to the root of his unresolved anger issues. He wasn’t in danger of harming himself or others, but there was something clawing and gnawing at his insides, and he couldn’t put words to it. It was hard to talk about a feeling or emotion you couldn’t describe, which meant the wall was hit hard and hit often, and only served to compound everything else that was twisting him up.

The only pre-party Oscar gift he’d actually pocketed was a weed vape. It was legal in California and a lot of people he knew swore by it for their own depression and anxiety. Chris had put it in the drawer of the nightstand, unsure if he’d ever use it, and now wondered if he should give it a try. Maybe a few hits would chill him out enough to walk to the store and get what he and Dodger needed?

“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself as he retrieved it from the drawer.

The buzz did set in, nice and slow, and eventually put him back to sleep. When he woke, he was still a little stoned, and a lot hungry, which prompted him to let Dodger out to do his business while he dressed. He was pulling on a shirt, trying to find his keys, and thinking of how badly he wanted Mexican food when the doorbell rang. A quick glance through the peep hole revealed a blurry middle finger, and there was only one person he knew who did that.

Grinning broadly, he unlocked the door, and threw it wide, “I thought you were in New York?”

“I am in New York,” Sebastian greeted cheekily. “At least, that’s what my manager thinks.”

After the bags were set aside and a hearty embrace was exchanged, Chris let Dodger back in, and offered his friend a beer and a tour. Sebastian’s visit was a welcomed surprise, and while Chris showed off his new digs, Sebastian asked when he was going to finally have a house warming party.

“When the place looks like I actually live in it.”

Sebastian snorted and shrugged, “I have a few days to myself, so, I’m up for an adventure. I can help you decorate or whatever it is that home owners do.”

Chris narrowed his eyes, “You just want to find out about _The Dalliance,_ don’t you?”

“Don’t you? I mean, I’ve gotten a lot of strange shit sent to me over the years, but nothing like this.”

“Look, we can Sherlock it later, but right now, I need tacos.”

Sebastian turned away from the view of the pool and raised an eyebrow. There was a brief pause before he stepped forward, leaned in, and chuckled lightly.

“You’re totally lit,” he said, tapping the neck of his beer bottle against Chris’s in salute. “I’ll drive.”

After they got into Sebastian’s rental and nailed down a destination, they headed for downtown. A parking garage and a few blocks later saw them at what reviews said was the preferred and best authentic Mexican restaurant in town. It was one of the few places where the grub was so good, it blurred class lines, and erased all pretenses. From bikers to debutants, to soccer moms and stock brokers -- they all tucked in and sipped from salt-rimmed glasses. He and Sebastian were trying to keep it low key, and thankfully, all it took was a wave and a gesture toward an empty booth in the back for them to be seated.

The first taste of their drinks had them both insisting it was nectar from the gods and the pozole was truly a cure for all ails. After the soup was demolished, they ordered their main courses – tacos al pastor and chilaquiles -- and while they waited, they shared a heaping serving of guacamole and tortilla chips.

“So, what’s the deal with you?” Sebastian asked bluntly.

Chris furrowed his brow and shook his head, “What do you mean?”

“You seem to be on edge – more so than usual. I applaud your buzz of choice, but come on -- what gives, huh? You need to get laid or something?”

Chris reached for the pitcher and refilled both their glasses, “I’m busy, man -- that’s the beginning and end of it.” 

Sebastian sat back and frowned, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted by the arrival of their food. They ate in companionable silence for a time before Sebastian wiped his mouth and rested his elbows on the table.

“You’re bored,” he proclaimed.

“I have too much going on in my life to be bored,” Chris replied dryly.

“Really? When was the last time you did anything fun that wasn’t work related or about your house?” Sebastian argued quietly. “And don’t say your visit to Washington because that doesn’t count, either.”

Chris thought about it for a moment, and then, a few moments more. The pointed look Sebastian gave him conveyed a combination of apology and disappointment. Sebastian was the only one aware of just how deep the neurosis went, and that was because Chris had gotten a bit too tipsy one night, drunk-dialed him, and vomited up the story along with his guts. Sebastian hadn’t judged him or treated him any differently afterward, but for Chris, it still felt awkward.

When he confessed to his family that he was seeking therapy, they didn’t tip-toe around him or try to handle him; they understood the amount of pressure he was under and that he needed to learn how to cope with it. He was grateful, but still couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, and he absolutely hated the stigma of it all. Part of confronting it meant openly and publicly talking about some of what he was dealing with; the response he received for such openness was a mix of supportive and derisive, which is what his therapist had told him to expect, but it was yet another bitter pill to swallow.

Therapy and getting it out in the open helped. Having a support system who ceaselessly and tirelessly protected him was a beautiful thing. Chris knew he had it all, that he was lucky, that he was living a dream – and it made him even more ashamed to admit he just wasn’t happy.

“Listen, Chris,” Sebastian murmured. “I didn’t mean to be a dick. If I completely overstepped, you can tell me to fuck off and--”

He shook his head and held up his hand, “It’s not you, man. You know that. Besides, I’ve got too many people in my life who tell me what they think I want to hear instead of what I need to hear.”

With the tense bubble having burst, and neither of them worse off for the honesty, the rest of the meal continued more comfortably. The heavy-handed margaritas helped make the conversation more jovial, and after paying for their lunch, they headed back to the car.

“You mind if we make a stop?” Sebastian asked as he steered the car down the ramp. “I need to check in at the hotel.”

“I do have guest bedrooms, you know,” Chris reminded him.

“Is that your subtle way of inviting me to stay over?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“If I’m staying with you, then, we need to hit up a store. Knowing you, you have only beer and no food.”

Chris sighed dramatically, “You’re so needy.”

Sebastian snickered and merged into traffic, “I saw a place when I was headed your way. We’ll stop there, load up, and then, we can figure out what our super-secret keys are about.”

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the store ended up taking almost two hours; not only did Chris need practically everything, they were also frequently stopped by fans. Some simply waved, while others tried to stop and chat, but the majority just wanted a hug and a selfie. By the time they hit the check out and stowed the groceries in the trunk, Chris’s phone had pinged dozens of times, indicating he’d probably been tagged on every social media outlet.

“Don’t look at it,” Sebastian told him as they headed back toward his house.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m needy and want your undivided attention.”

He chuckled and locked the screen, “Yes, dear.”

“Stepping away from all that is the best thing I ever did,” Sebastian admitted rather seriously. “That shit totally warped my perspective and just… I was engaging unwillingly, and now, I only post what I want to post, when I want to post it, and fuck what anyone else thinks.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course, I am – it’s me, remember? I’m never wrong.”

Once the groceries were put away and Dodger was fed, watered, and given proper attention, the three of them spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool. By all accounts, it wasn’t really anything special; just a friend, a dog, and some brews, but as he swam laps and Sebastian nodded off on a lounge chair, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a relaxing day.

After several hours in the sun, they both agreed they were water-logged, and there was nothing wrong with napping. Once Sebastian was set up in his own room, Chris and Dodger retreated to his. A quick shower and a bottle of water later, he and the pup were snuggled up again. It was hard to tell who started snoring first, or who woke who up, but when Chris opened his eyes, it was dark outside.

A glance toward the clock revealed it was almost seven, and after a trip to the bathroom and pulling on some sweats, he headed for the living room. Sebastian was sitting on the couch, one hand in a bag of chips and phone in the other. His friend’s attention was so fixated that when Chris called out his name, he practically squealed, and upended the entire bag of Ruffles onto the floor.

“You scared the piss out of me!” Sebastian roared over Chris’s whooping and Dodger’s excited barking. “From now on, you wear a bell, damn it!”

Once Chris put Dodger outside, he grabbed a broom and dust pan, and giggled as he leaned up the mess.

“Were you looking at porn?” Chris wondered in amusement.

Sebastian flipped him the bird and took a long pull on his beer. After he wiped his mouth, he explained he’d been checking out _The Dalliance_ website, and was thinking about the welcome party and whether or not he should RSVP.

When Chris asked him to elaborate, Sebastian explained when he called the number on the back of the card, there was a recording that instructed him to either press one to accept or two decline. When he accepted, he received a text, with another set of instructions; there was an address on the back of the card he’d received, and once he entered it, he got back a link to the website. From there, he was required to pay for his membership and upload a photo of the key before he was finally granted access.

“That sounds like a lot of hoops to jump through for a club.”

“Oh, this isn’t a club. At least, not by any definition we know.”

“Alright, I’m intrigued,” Chris admitted. “Show me.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, locking up his phone and setting his beer on the coffee table. “You follow the instructions. I’m hitting the head and if you’re not interested by the time I get back, we won’t go.”

Chris immediately got up, went to the kitchen, and retrieved the key and card from the junk drawer he’d tossed it in. It took a few minutes, but once he was in and had a gander, knew right away what his answer would be.

“So?” Sebastian called out from the living room. “We going tomorrow night or what?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We are definitely going.”


	4. Chapter 3: Slumming It

**Chapter 3: Slumming It**

Y/N watched the frat boy’s throat work as he downed his drink. She could tell he was a sloppy drunk, but not a mean one, and she would more than likely have to help him into a cab.

She’d requested the second job to help supplement her income, and the only reason Margaret had allowed it was because Quin agreed to tag along. There were no fancy people, guns, or contracts needed here; the place was filled with just a bunch of young college kids looking to get wasted, and if they were lucky, find their soulmates somewhere amidst the stench of maraschino cherries and desperation.

“You’re too beautiful,” the young man half-shouted, half-slurred.

“Nick,” the bartender yelled back with a giggle. “I’m working.”

“If you let me take care of you, you wouldn’t have to work.”

The words triggered memories and feelings Y/N had spent years trying to forget. The way Nicky-boy trailed his index finger down his girlfriend’s arm, and how she looked at him as if he hung the fucking moon -- that was how it had been for them in the beginning, but what had once been so good at the start morphed into something deviant... 

Y/N was pretty sure she was either going to barf or cry at the display of affection, and the only thing that saved her from choosing was Quin bellowing her name, followed by the sound of glass shattering. A fight had broken out and the distraction, while not a pleasant one, was definitely welcomed. By the time it was over, the place looked destroyed, six drunk idiots had been thrown out, and a gaggle of crying girls were being consoled and cajoled into taxis. Due to the damage, the owner closed up early, and the only thing she and Quin could do to help was get all the drunkards out of the club and into vehicles with designated drivers.

“He literally threw his shoe at me,” Y/N snapped as she shut the last girl into the van. “He threw a fucking shoe at my fucking head.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think he pissed himself when you threatened to break his arm,” Quin offered by way of consolation. “And I don’t think it’s going to bruise.”

“Why do sneakers hurt so much?”

“Do you need a band-aid? Or maybe an ice-pack?”

The pouty lip and comically sympathetic tone prompted Y/N to jut her chin and raise a middle finger, and he responded by lifting his fists in mock challenge.

“Bring it, ya’ brat,” he quipped. 

“Why, so you can try to rope-a-dope me like the little shit you are?” she snorted as she slapped his faux hits dodged his sloppy lunges.

“Them’s fightin’ words.”

Y/N burst out laughing at his terrible attempt of a southern drawl, and while she was busy knee slapping, Quin seized the opening. One minute, she was on her feet, and the next, she was slung over his shoulder. Passerby pointed and grinned as she giggled like a twit, and when she bellowed that he was a damn heathen, he flexed his muscles, and began chanting he was Spartacus.

“Alright, put me down so we can go get something to eat.”

As soon as she was upright and past the headrush, Quin threw an arm around her shoulder, and they began the ten-block walk to the parking garage.

“I’m so exhausted,” Quin groused as they climbed into the car. “Can we just order a pizza, pick up some brews, and kick back at your place? I can Uber home.”

Y/N shrugged, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

He called in the order and after a pit-stop at the party store, they headed for her apartment, and arrived just in time for the delivery. It wasn’t until they were both into their second slice and halfway through their drinks that Quin kicked off his shoes and sighed.

“How long are you going to keep doing these doubles?” he wondered.

“For as long as it takes,” she replied simply.

“Then, what?”

Y/N swallowed hard and opened another beer, “I don’t know. I can’t think about the future until I’m out from under it all.”

Quin frowned and swiped a napkin over his mouth, “Why won’t you ask Margaret for help? You know she would--”

“I don’t want her to know,” she interjected hotly. “It’s bad enough that you know, but if she found out? Fuck, Quin, I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“What about a lawyer? Have you thought about--”

“I can barely afford to pay him off, let alone hire a lawyer good enough to deal with that family.”

Quin placed a gentle hand on her knee, “What he’s doing to you isn’t just disgusting and unfair, Y/N, it’s illegal. You can’t let him continue to get away with this.”

Appetite now gone, Y/N tossed the half-eaten third slice back into the box, and let her head fall back against the couch cushions. She swore to that she wouldn’t cry anymore, but the tears burned, and she had to shove the heels of her hands against her eyelids to stop them from falling.

Y/N gone to the University of California to study criminology, and just before receiving her diploma, she’d been recruited to Quantico. It wasn’t a career path Y/N had planned to take, but when opportunity knocked, she answered. After graduating from the academy, she lined up a job at a field office on the east coast, and was looking forward to the next chapter.

The families of the recent graduates had been flown out to Virginia to celebrate and the party had been elaborate. Y/N remembered basking in the glory of it all – the catering, the company, and the accomplishment. But when she was introduced to the son of the then FBI Director, it was fireworks, and she’d been too enamored by the show to see the danger. 

It was a classic tale of poor girl meets rich boy, star-crossed, and all that bullshit. It should’ve been a fling, but it wasn’t – at least, not for her. Y/N put her career on hold to be with him; her parents told her it was a mistake, but Bret said he loved her, and that was what mattered.

He said all the right things, did all the right things, and made her feel like she was someone special. Dinners with his parents, helping with his sister’s baby shower, going places she’d never been to before, and the sex -- out-of-this-world. It had been the most exciting eighteen months of her life, not because Bret was wealthy or because he spoiled her absolutely rotten, but because he put her at the center of his universe, and like a fool, she thought she’d always remain there.

Things began to go downhill after her parents were killed in a car accident. They’d gotten trapped in an area where there had been wildfires, and in the ensuing panic, they’d been run off the road. Her grandparents had died long ago and there were no aunts or uncles, and as the only child, she had to handle everything herself. At the age of 29, she was orphaned and devastated, and didn’t have a clue what to do.

The first red-flag was Bret not showing up for the funeral; her parents hadn’t really approved of him, which meant they were practically strangers, but that was no excuse. When she called and demanded to know why he wasn’t there, he’d told her his father was rushed into emergency surgery, and he couldn’t leave his mother. Y/N had forgiven him for that.

It wasn’t until months later she found out it had been a complete lie.

After that, it was little things, like forgetting they’d made plans, or saying he was doing one thing, but actually doing another. He’d say she was mistaken if she contradicted him. Their love-making had always been a little on the wild side, but instead of it being fun, it was mean, and Bret became uninterested in her pleasure. After that, he became uninterested in his own – at least, with her, because she’d found other women’s clothing, and caught pieces of conversation not meant for her ears.

His absence, lying, and cheating didn’t improve when she finally confronted him. In fact, Bret seemed to enjoy hurting her, and when that darkness was revealed, she knew she had to get out. The night Y/N broke things off had been absolutely terrifying…

_“My friends warned me about slumming it,” he remarked in a glib tone. “So, I kept a record of everything. You’ll need to reimburse me for my wasted effort.”_

_The stack of papers he’d tossed in her face included a detailed account of what he called every “ill-invested cent” he spent on her. Gifts, dates, trips – there was an even a line item for gas. The total was just over $800,000 and he expected her to foot the bill._

_“I’m not paying you.”_

_He took out his phone, pressed a few buttons, and turned it toward her, “Oh, I think you will.”_

_At first, Y/N wasn’t sure what exactly she was watching, but it soon became all too clear. It was a clip of the first time they’d had sex._

_“You disgusting piece of--”_

_“You pay, or this, and several more just like it, are going up online,” Bret interjected._

_“This is extortion!” she cried. “I’m calling the police.”_

_“And what exactly do you think they’ll do to me?” he replied icily. “You know who my father is, Y/N. You also know if these videos get out, you’ll never be able to show your face in public, let alone to your friends at the FBI.”_

_“You know I don’t have this kind of money.”_

_Bret poured himself a drink and sat down in the high back next to the fireplace, “I’ll take what you have left over from your parent’s life insurance and the house sale. After that, you can make payments, which I expect on the first of every month. If you’re a day late, you’ll be charged interest on the principal. If you’re two days late, I post a clip.”_

Flash forward and three years later, here she was back in LA, and trying to pay an insurmountable debt to a man who she’d once thought was the love of her life. Every, damn time Y/N went to the post office, box of cash in hand, she had to fight the urge not to scream. Every month it was a choice between getting calls from student loan debt collectors, keeping a roof over her head, or sending money to that entitled prick.

The only reason Y/N even had a job was because Margaret had been the one who recruited her back in college. It had been embarrassing to call her up, hat in hand, and ask for work. She couldn’t explain to the woman the reason why she wasn’t an agent, because that would mean telling her what had happened, and she was so, so, so ashamed…

“I want to kill him.”

Y/N wiped her eyes and gave Quin a teary smile, “I love you for saying that.”

Quin sat aside his pizza, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her in close. The affection was enough to make the tears well again. She’d sworn the man to secrecy and knew Quin wouldn’t betray her, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t burdened by it. Y/N was grateful for his friendship, not only because he restored a little faith in humanity, but because he filled some of the splintered parts of her heart and soul.

“You be careful around him,” she rasped as she dabbed at her eyes.

“Who?” he asked quietly.

“Logan.”

“Y/N, I don’t think--”

She lifted her head and met his eyes, “You fucking promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t let him do to you what Bret did to me. Promise me right now.”

Quin nodded solemnly, “I promise.”


	5. Chapter 4: The Welcome Mat

**Chapter 4: The Welcome Mat**

There were two women in the limo and both of them were all legs, lips, and doe-eyes.

Chris was pretty sure if he hadn’t done as Sebastian suggested and taken a few hits off the weed vape, he would have spent the entire ride openly staring instead of just casting furtive glances every time he took a liberal gulp out of the champagne flute. Lucky for him, Sebastian was a good conversationalist; the man could literally talk to a tree and the wind would rustle leaves in answer.

When the car finally came to a halt, they got out first, and then, helped the ladies. Like young boys being chaperoned at a party, they were guided up a rather elaborate set of stairs before being escorted inside, and left alone with two security guards. Before they were allowed to enter the club proper, metal detecting wands were passed over them, and they were instructed to leave their cellphones behind in their assigned lockers.

“Now, I really can’t wait to see what’s inside,” Sebastian rasped as he retrieved the key from his pocket and secured his phone. “You ready?”

Chris followed suit and nodded, “Yeah, let’s do it.”

The guards gestured for them to head for the elevator, which was already waiting for them. Instead of there being buttons indicating floors, there was a keyhole, and as soon as Chris inserted his into the cylinder, they were on the move. When the doors parted, they were greeted not only by dim lighting and bass-heavy music, but by a new pair of ladies, who offered them any drink of their choosing. The miniature-sized bars were fully stocked with just about everything, and after they’d been served, they were told to enjoy themselves.

The mezzanine they stood on overlooked the entirety of the club and offered an impressive view. From the ceiling on either side of the room hung elaborately decorated swings, which were occupied by couples engaging in sensual, acrobatic routines, and in all four corners at floor level were back-lit with mini-stages, each with a dancer slowly revealing what was hidden beneath their costumes. The sounds coming from beneath their feet suggested everyone was having a good time, and before long, the two of them were headed into the fray.

“Are we having fun yet?” Sebastian asked.

“Too soon to tell!” Chris shouted back at him sarcastically.

“Just relax,” he replied, snagging another drink from a nearby waitress before walking backward into the crowd. “Go with it!”

Between one blink at the next, Sebastian was swallowed up by the horde. It was impossible to spot his friend, who had chosen to wear a black-on-black suit, and Chris felt like an idiot for standing on the sidelines. It was a party – a chance for him to let loose and have a good time – and that didn’t include remaining attached at Sebastian’s hip like some sort of frightened kid.

“You look lost.”

The disembodied, feminine voice in his ear prompted him to turn around. He wanted to reply he wasn’t lost, just simply overwhelmed, but that sounded like such a douche-bag thing to say. Thankfully, he was saved from having to talk when the woman announced her name was Keela, took his hand, and guided him to the center of the dancefloor.

A lot of drinking and roaming hands. Someone gave him a cigarette and the nicotine buzz was phenomenal. Keela had a friend who suggested they find a room, while she whispered for him to open his mouth. He barely registered the tab on the tip of Keela’s tongue before she kissed him, and not long after, he was hit with a rush of pure euphoria.

Every touch didn’t just feel good – it felt divine. Two sets of hands moving across him. A palm cupping and squeezing and rubbing him through his pants. One of them nibbling on his ear while the other sucked on his tongue. Someone was undoing his belt and when he opened his eyes and looked down, Keela was on her knees, and licking her lips. A blowjob sounded just fine to him, but before she could even reach for his zipper, she was grabbed by the arm, and hoisted upward.

“You know the rules.”

Thinking some asshole was ruining his fun, Chris had a protest at the ready, but was dumbstruck by the sight of the female security guard in front of him. Gun on her hip and mouth twisted in contempt, she admonished Keela for her behavior, which made the young woman pout.

“ _Don’t_ make me tell you again,” she warned. “You, too, Vicky – I see you hiding behind him. Both of you, give it up right now.”

His watch, wallet, and keys appeared out from beneath their dresses and were handed over. Both girls flitted away like they’d had their asses spanked, and Chris watched the guard speak briefly into a mic on her shoulder before she stepped in close and handed him his things.

“First time?” she asked.

He nodded dumbly as he deposited both wallet and keys into the breast pocket of his jacket. While he struggled to get the watch back on his wrist, she apologized for the women, who she described as kleptomaniacs. When Chris met her gaze, she narrowed hers, and spoke again into mic. Less than a minute later, a waitress appeared, and delivered bottles of Voss.

She unscrewed a cap off one and held it aloft, “Drink it. Now.”

Chris took a long pull, but the moment he slowed down, she shook her head. He heard her say, “all of it,” and the command left no room for negotiation. After he polished off the bottle, she took the empty, and handed him the other one.

“They dosed you with a hit of ecstasy,” she told him. “You start having hallucinations or feel like you’re getting sick, come find me. My name is Y/N -- I’m in the southwest corner. Got it?”

When he nodded in understanding, she turned, and Chris watched as she deftly wound her way through the crowd. A few seconds later, a heavy arm went around his shoulders, and he heard Sebastian’s humored voice in his ear.

“Who was that?” he asked slyly.

“I don’t know,” Chris told him.

“And the other two?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Sorry you got cockblocked.”

Chris held the water bottle to his chest and sighed, “At least I got my wallet back.”

Sebastian laughed uproariously and squeezed his shoulder, “That’s the spirit!”

Almost having his stuff stolen was quickly forgotten when Sebastian suggested he check out the dancers, and given his state of mind, he found himself very easily entertained. It took a few hours for him to come down from the high, and when he finally landed back on his feet, it was almost five o’clock in the morning. The party showed no signs of slowing down, but he’d definitely crashed, and really wanted to go to sleep.

He managed to find Sebastian tucked away in a far corner, and the man looked as if he’d found himself a bedmate for the night. When Chris shouted his name and told him he was going home, Sebastian whispered something in the woman’s ear, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before getting to his feet.

“Let’s go.”

Chris rolled his eyes, “You stay. Just wrap it before you tap it.”

Sebastian smirked and licked his lips, “See you later.”

After a hearty hug and a promise not to drive, Chris went in search of the bathrooms. Doing his business and washing up felt like it took eighty-four years, but he managed, and he was just drying his hands when he heard the echo of a shout. Reflex made him rush to investigate, and when he stepped into the hall, he felt his body flood with adrenaline.

The security guard who had saved him from the pickpockets was being forcefully held against the wall and groped. Chris opened his mouth to tell the guy to get off her, but before he could, he heard a snarl, and watched as she kneed him right in the balls. Chris involuntarily winced and everything from there happened fast – while the guy was doubled over, she grabbed his head, and introduced his face to her knee. There was a rather large gush of blood and soon as he fell, she drew her weapon, and knelt down next to him.

“You want to get fucked?” Y/N spat as she wedged the gun none-too-gently into his groin. “Or have you had enough?”

There was a lot of whimpering and groveling, all of which went ignored. Instead, she re-holstered, and called for a cleanup. When two male guards came into the hall, Chris got the hell out of the way, and pressed himself up against the wall. They both checked in on her first before grabbing the guy beneath the arm pits and hauling him up from the floor. It took both men to drag him away and when they were gone, she turned to face him, and asked if he was alright.

Chris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and blinked slowly, “Who _are_ you?”

“Just a glorified bouncer,” Y/N replied airily. “Now, are you going back in or heading out?”

“Heading out.”

She motioned for him to follow her, “There’s a back exit – it’s easier than going through the front. I’ll have your phone brought to you.”

The hallway was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, and he wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt an awkward combination of nervous and giddy. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he turned left when Y/N instructed him to, and then, they took a right. There was another guard stationed by the door who nodded in greeting, handed over his cellphone, and opened the way for them.

“Address?” she asked.

Chris gave it to her and saw the front passenger window of the car slide down. She repeated the location to the driver before stepping off the curb and opening the door for him.

“Your chariot.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

As if she were unaccustomed to anyone remembering her name, let alone expressions of gratitude, her expression morphed with surprise, and there was a hint of a smile. Headlights flooded the road and Chris was given a brief glimpse of warmth he hadn’t seen before.

He found himself rather beguiled by it.

A burst static and her name came over the walkie-talkie, and just like that, everything that had appeared just as quickly disappeared. He knew compartmentalization when he saw it and didn’t find it all discourteous when she told someone else to see him off. 

Chris climbed into the back seat, unable to look away from Y/N as she exchanged words with one of her coworkers. On impulse, he fired up the camera on his phone, and managed to discreetly take a picture before the door shut and the car was put in gear.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, sir?” the driver asked politely.

“Yes,” Chris answered as he stared down at the screen. “As a matter of fact, I did.”


	6. Chapter 5: A Glowing Account

**Chapter 5: A Glowing Account**

“Jesus, Quin,” Y/N hissed, her eyes flaring wide. “You look like you’ve been mauled. Who did this?”

He ducked his head and reached for his shirt, “It’s not what you think.”

She watched as a blush bloomed over his neck, ears, and cheeks, and when it dawned on her the splotches marring his skin weren’t from violence, Y/N covered her eyes, and shook her head.

Quin cleared his throat and pulled on his boots, “If it makes you feel any better, I gave as good as I got.”

“And?”

“What?”

“You know what.”

Quin tossed his street clothes into his duffle bag and slammed the locker door shut, “It was an itch that needed scratching, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Y/N pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest; she wanted to pursue the matter further, but she could tell Quin had zero interest in talking about it. Y/N knew it would come out eventually, so, for the time being, she let it be.

“So, how did it go last night?” he prompted after a period of tense silence. “I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you before closing.”

She plopped down on the bench next to him and sighed, “I kneed one of them in the balls. Might’ve broken his nose?”

“Yeah, I heard about that. Sounds like the guy was asking for it.”

“I also met Captain America.”

Quin threw up his hands and followed up the gesture with a hard smack to her shoulder, “Why didn’t you fucking lead with that?”

Y/N batted her eyelashes at him, “Because I live to torture you.”

There were a lot of follow up questions: Was he nice? Were his shoulders _really_ that wide? What was he wearing? Did he show up with anyone or was he alone? What happened after? Are his eyes _really_ that blue or was it just good lighting? How could you _not_ ask for a picture?

She was doing her best to satisfy Quin’s fan-boy curiosity when he suddenly fell silent and stood to attention. Knowing she was busted, she also got to her feet, and faced the music.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Margaret’s voice called out. “This is the men’s locker room.”

The urge to say, ‘ _yeah, so?’_ was strong, but she bit her tongue.

“Quin, upstairs,” she barked. “Mr. Hughes wants to see you. And you — with me.”

When they stepped out of the locker room, Quin went in one direction, while Y/N followed Margaret in the opposite. As soon as they got to her office and the door was shut, she was instructed to take a seat.

“Surveys went out this afternoon,” Margaret stated, firing up her tablet and passing it over. “The time spent in the wrong locker room notwithstanding, your behavior is above reproach, and the newcomer you aided was extremely satisfied.”

Y/N couldn’t help but be surprised, “I don’t recall doing anything?”

Margaret nodded her head toward the tablet, “Apparently, our two infamous troublemakers tried to relieve Mr. Evans of his belongings and you prevented it. He mentions that and quite a bit more in his comments.”

It was standard operating procedure to send a very expensive, but tasteful thank you gift, and survey to members after their first visit. Most of the questions were a standard one to five rating, and inquired about the level of service, food, alcohol, and other forms of entertainment. If there was a direct interaction or situation involving a member, they were asked to rate whether or not the employee ensured their comfort and provided superior service. There was also a comment box left for additional feedback.

The majority of members who left happy tended to pencil-whip them or not return them at all. This particular survey Margaret brought to her attention, however, had a rather lengthy paragraph attached to it. As Y/N read it, she couldn’t help but be completely taken aback, and by the time she finished, she was both flattered and a little flustered.

“I’m glad he had fun?” she blurted out awkwardly. 

“Since Mr. Hughes wants one guard per body, and Mr. Evans already knows you, you’re being assigned to him full time. When he visits, you will be exclusively responsible for his person. Whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Understood?

She swallowed hard and nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

Margaret took back the tablet, tapped it a few times, and then handed it back, “Mr. Hughes believes his presence and the presence of his co-star, Mr. Stan, will eventually bring in the others. Given the connection you’ve made, the propensity of repeat visits, and your performance in the past, we’ve agreed it’s time to promote you to Section Leader, and give you a salary bump. I know this is something we only briefly discussed, but if you have no objections, I’d like to move forward as soon as possible.”

She leaned forward slightly, tapped the tablet until the final page was revealed, and pointed to the salary portion at the bottom. Y/N only had to take a look at the extra zeroes to accept the responsibility as well as the Stylus pen she used to scrawl her name. After being informed she was expected every Monday for staff meetings, Y/N stood when Margaret stood, and shook her hand firmly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Y/L/N. I’ll see you in a moment for count.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The additional income meant there was possibly a light at the end of the tunnel, and when she left the office, Y/N couldn’t help but feel as if some of the weight she’d been carrying had been lifted from her shoulders. As long as she continued to be frugal, and picked up extra jobs as often as possible, there was no reason to give up hope yet.

When she got to the main floor and lined up for role call, her promotion was announced, and very well received from her co-workers and the club staff. While Margaret went over the schedule and rotation, Y/N looked down the line for Quin, but he was absent. She wondered if the meeting with Mr. Hughes was business related or something else altogether, and her question was answered when her friend appeared over an hour later, looking a bit disheveled and extremely satisfied.

“Really?” Y/N asked, unable to hold back both her shock and subsequent scoff. 

“I guess?”

“You are very, very naughty.”

Quin winked and tucked in his shirt, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

As she helped with his hair and ensured his collar covered up the worst of the hickeys, Y/N told him about the promotion. He cursed himself for missing it, and when she reminded him that he’d been a tad pre-occupied, he got a rather dopey look on his face, but apologized nonetheless.

“You can make it up to me by buying me dinner,” she told him as they both went through the process of checking their gear.

“Mexican?” he asked.

“Right after work?”

“Obviously.”

“Done.”

A fist-bump sealed the deal and then, they got to work. The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful, with the most dramatic event being an heiress losing a shoe, and crying buckets of tears until it was returned. After a quick trip to the locker room – the woman’s one, this time – Y/N was back in her street clothes, and waiting by her car for Quin. She’d been cooling her heels for almost ten minutes when she received his text, asking if it would be okay if he met her at the restaurant.

_“Again????”_ she texted back.

_“Thirty minutes. Promise,”_ came the reply.

After internally denying she was absolutely jealous, she shot off a thumbs up, got in the car, and headed downtown. The promotion was the first lucky thing to happen to her and the second was finding a parking spot right across the street from the restaurant. Thrilled she wouldn’t have to park in a garage and hoof it, she pulled into the empty space, and headed inside.

Y/N and Quin were regulars, which meant she didn’t have to wait to be seated. Taking a free booth in the back, she asked for a margarita pitcher, and an order of guacamole. The alcohol was delivered quickly, and she’d nearly polished off the first glass when both the appetizer and Quin arrived.

“Don’t hate me,” he panted by way of greeting.

“Are you breathing that way because you ran to get here,” she wondered as she poured herself another. “Or is it a residual side-effect of the sex?”

“I said _don’t_ hate me.”

“I’m bitchy because I’m envious of your post-coitus glow.”

“Well, I guess I know what to get you for your birthday, now, don’t I?”

“Asshole,” she sassed.

He pursed his lips and made a kissy noise before grabbing the menu. Even though they both always ended up getting the same thing every, single time, they still liked looking at it. After they placed their orders, Quin reached for his drink, and settled back.

“So, are you ready to get back on the horse?” he asked. “Or do you just want to be dicked down?”

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. “And I don’t know if I ever will.”

The look Quin gave her over the rim of his glass was more than enough of a response to her statement. While he preferred monogamy, he didn’t neglect his needs, nor did he object to casual sex. It had been a very, very long dry spell for her, and he’d made his opinion on that known on more than one occasion.

Y/N didn’t give a damn about anyone’s sexual proclivities; as long as everyone was of age, consenting, and hopefully safe, it didn’t matter to her. She’d only had four lovers and three of them had been with men she’d been with for more than a year. Being monetarily hung up on the last one, plus having a heavy dose of trust issues, made it difficult for her engage in flirtation, let alone sex.

“Maybe just a one-night stand to take the edge off?” Quin suggested.

“Do we have to talk about my lack of a love life?” Y/N asked dryly. “Why don’t we talk about yours? Are _you_ just getting dicked down or do you want to put a ring on it?”

The inquiry was her attempt to diffuse and deflect, but the wide-eyed and rather startled expression on his face brought her up short. Thinking she’d struck some sort of unseen, frayed nerve, the apology was on the tip of her tongue, but Quin’s darting eyes and audible gulp again gave her pause.

A shadow loomed over the table, and when she heard a low, timbred voice say, _“Hello, Y/N,”_ she nearly choked.

Internally, all she could think was: _Holy. Fucking. Shit._

Externally, like a total tool, she said: “Um, hi?”


	7. Chapter 6: Perchance

**Chapter 6: Perchance**

It had been less than 24-hours since Y/N had seen him to the car that took him home, and to say Chris had completely transformed was an understatement. Hair tucked beneath a Red Sox hat, casual t-shirt and jeans, and the dusting of a beard made him look like a completely different man.

If she’d passed him on the street, she wouldn’t have known him, and whatever she might’ve said to make up for such an epic failure in greeting was brought up short by the arrival of their food and another guest.

Y/N knew the wheezing noises weren’t coming from her, and when she glanced at Quin, his eyebrows had crawled far up his forehead and his mouth was agape. Features obscured by a large pair of sunglasses and dressed head to toe in black, Sebastian Stan pointed to the food on Quin’s plate, and remarked he was ordering it.

“Take me,” Quin sighed dreamily. “I mean, it. Take it. The plate – food -- whatever.”

Chris told Sebastian to leave them be, cited they had clearly encroached on a date, and Quin all but tripped over himself to insist nothing of the sort was taking place. As there were no seats available, Chris suggested they go elsewhere, and her friend took it upon himself to not only kick her beneath the table, but also invite them to sit.

Sebastian accepted without hesitation and when she looked to Chris, his expression was bemused. Instead of letting him continue to hover awkwardly, Y/N scooted over, and made as much room as possible. The booths were by no means small, but accommodating his set of broad shoulders meant when he sat down, there was a lot of hunching, elbow bumping, and apologizing.

A waitress came by with menus and additional sets of silverware. Another pitcher and more guacamole were ordered. While Quin and Sebastian were chatting it up like they were long-lost friends, Y/N couldn’t think of anything to say.

It wasn’t that she was tongue-tied, exactly, but she was definitely at a loss for words; it wasn’t often her work crossed over into her personal life, and on the rare occasion it did, the members never spoke to her. Unsure of what to say, and knowing small talk had never been her strong suit, Y/N simply unwound her fork from the napkin, and began to eat.

“What is that?” Chris asked.

Instead of trying to answer around a mouthful of food, she pushed her plate over, and gestured for him to try it. Y/N watched him take a bite and saw the subtle way his expression changed; a slight widening of the eyes, followed up by that specific nod people only did when they really liked something, and finishing with a swipe of a napkin over his mouth.

“That’s got kick to it.”

Y/N slid her glass toward him, “I don’t have cooties.”

Chris grinned and reached for the drink, “I might.”

The sip was polite, but his tongue darting out to catch a bit of salt wasn’t, and she didn’t at all like how the sight of it made her uncross and re-cross her legs beneath the table. Y/N also did not appreciate the ridiculous eyelashes, or how the spice in that one bite of food caused a reaction that made his lips look even fuller. She knew his thigh pressing against her own wasn’t a come on, and neither was the way he’d thrown his arm over the back of the booth. Both were just his attempt to be comfortable, but the subtle way he shifted, the subconscious way his teeth worried over his lower lip, and the way he smelled so damn fucking good… 

“Yes, of course. Who do I make it out to?”

Like some sort of proverbial month to a flame, his voice drew her in deeper. His countenance was relaxed and he was gracious with the waitress who asked for his autograph after taking his order. Though he was clearly dressed down and trying not to draw attention, he scrawled his name without hesitation, and the kind exchange proved Chris was a man who was more than just easy on the eyes. There was a very natural softness and sensitivity there, which was displayed even more when a shy little boy came up to ask for a picture.

“I’m so sorry,” the boy’s mother whispered. “I told him--”

“No, no, it’s completely fine,” Chris interjected gently.

Vibrating with excitement, the little boy practically danced when Chris asked for his name. A subtle point of Chris’s finger had the boy looking toward Sebastian, who took off his glasses, grinned, and waved. Eyes as wide as saucers, he chirped out _‘Bucky!’_ and tried to wriggle free from his mom.

“Do you mind?” Chris asked.

Y/N blinked rapidly and accepted the mother’s phone, “No, not at all.”

Down on one knee beside the table, arm wrapped around the kid’s shoulders, Chris asked if they were ready. Y/N gave a count down and snapped a series, and repeated the process twice more for separate photos with Sebastian and photos of the three of them together. When they reviewed the pictures, both Sebastian and Chris agreed with any the adorable tyke deemed looked the best. 

Y/N was pretty sure both her heart and ovaries exploded simultaneously, and right on the heels of it came a flood of guilt and shame. Tearing her gaze away from the exchange was more difficult than it should have been, and as soon they finished and the boy begrudgingly left with his mom, Y/N was out of the booth and doing her best not to run toward the restroom.

She immediately went to the sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed her face. The iciness felt good against her too-hot skin, and as she dried off with a scratchy paper towel, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, and shook her head.

After internally admonishing herself for being a fucking star-struck, horny fool, she headed back out. Chris and Sebastian had returned to their seats, and somebody must’ve told a joke, because Chris was clutching his chest and laughing uproariously.

“Easily a size fourteen,” Quin stated. “She’d already warned him, but he threw it anyway.”

“So, what did she do?” Sebastian wondered.

Quin refilled his glass, “Grabbed his arm and threatened to break it off and beat him to death with it. Whether or not he wet his pants is still up for debate.”

“Where did this even happen?” Chris asked between chuckles.

“Some college bar about a mile over,” Quin replied airily.

As Quin launched into another epic tale, Y/N felt the heat in her cheeks return. This time, she was mortified; in her heart, she knew nobody was laughing at her, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like the biggest joke in the world. This wasn’t the “career” she’d meant to have. Y/N had made the mistake of choosing love over her calling, and as a result, she’d gotten sucked into a world where she didn’t belong, and now, she was literally paying for it.

“Where is she? I feel like I need to shake her hand,” Sebastian said.

Y/N watched as Quin turned to look for her, and when he spotted her, he waved her over. She did her best to button up her seesawing emotions before walking to the booth. Knowing she was too on edge, she remained rooted next to the table, and didn’t sit when Chris shuffled over.

“I was just regaling them with tales from the great beyond,” Quin told her.

“Yeah, we’ve had some interesting times,” she managed to get out as she reached across the table for her phone. “Speaking of which, I have to go.”

Chris sat forward and frowned, “You’re leaving?”

Instead of answering his question, Y/N reached into her pocket, peeled off some cash, and set it on the table. The entire time she apologized for her rudeness, Quin was side-eyeing her, which made her feel even more terrible. Sebastian protested her departure and tried cajole her into saying, but it was Chris’s offer to pay for the meal that finally pushed her over the edge.

“No,” Y/N snapped icily. “I pay my own way.”

“Y/N, take it easy,” Quin warned.

Instead of shoving her foot further down her own throat, she bolted for the door. Someone called out her name and asked her to hold up, but she didn’t stop. When Y/N got to the car, her hands were shaking so badly, she kept missing the lock. After the third attempt, she finally managed it, and was just yanking the door wide when Chris appeared on the opposite side of the street and tried to flag her down.

Unwilling to face that particular confrontation, she got in as quickly as she could; door shut, seatbelt on, ignition turned over. When Y/N chanced a glance out the window, he was jogging over, but a spot in traffic opened up just in time for her to pull away from the curb. In the rearview, Chris was seen throwing up his hands, which made her feel like shit all over again.

By the time Y/N got to her apartment, she was in tears, and fighting the worst case of the hiccups. Her phone kept ringing, but since she knew it was Quin, she ignored it. Too keyed up for sleep, and beyond sick of herself, she changed into her running gear, grabbed her I-Pod and water bottle, and headed out.

After a quick stretch and a few easy-paced miles, she was warmed up enough, and hit her stride. The blaring music and her pounding heart helped drown out the thoughts swirling in her head. Focused on nothing more than her breathing and the road in front of her, Y/N pushed her body for miles. Out of the city and into the canyon, she ran from LA to the Hollywood Hills of the Saint Monica Mountains. It was a neighborhood where the lights were less glaring, the houses were a respectable distance from each other, and the trees were a mix of leaf-laden branches and fresh-scented evergreens.

She made her way up, down, and around, and hit about twelve miles before she decided it was time to turn back. Y/N was readying herself for the downhill when she saw a dog barreling toward her, and managed to stop just in time to avoid a collision. Drawn in by the absolutely adorable face, she pulled the buds from her ears, knelt down, and slowly offered her hand. After a curious sniff and a woof of approval, he wriggled in close, and leaned right up against her.

“Look at you,” she cooed as they both panted. “You’re such a beautiful boy. Yes, yes, you are. Where did you come from, huh?”

Y/N gave him a hearty chest scratch and examined his collar; the front of the ID displayed his name, while the back showed an address and a phone number to call if the dog was lost. When she looked around at the house numbers, she realized the yard he escaped from wasn’t too far away, and decided to try to return him to his owner.

“You’re so damn cute, but I bet you’re going to be in big trouble when you get home.”

A high-pitched whine and a hearty bark in response made her smile, and she was wondered how she was going to lure the fur ball back to his house when she heard someone call out the dog’s name. Y/N hollered she had him, and less than a minute later, there were footsteps headed in their direction. Unsure of whether or not the pup would try to make a run for it, she made sure to keep a firm hold on his collar, and waited.

From her position, she couldn’t really make out who was walking up the hill, but the sound of someone letting out a relieved sigh meant it was probably the owner. The dog sensed it, too, and began to bark happily and tap-dance all over the place. She was doing her best to hang on to the big lug when a familiar voice reached her ears.

“Bub, you know better,” Chris chastised as he approached. “That was very, very – oh, it’s you.”

Whatever good luck she’d experienced earlier that day seemed to have completely turned against her. Cursing internally, Y/N wiped her brow, and rose to her feet in time to see him pass beneath a street lamp. Hat on backward and sweat pants riding low, he looked like one of the dancers from _Magic Mike_ , and that was so _not_ what she needed to see 

Y/N grimaced for the both of them, “I promise I’m not a stalker.”

She didn’t blame him for not responding, and she most certainly did not watch the way shoulders worked as he bent down to snap the leash into place. His voice was low and patient when he said, _‘come on, Dodger,’_ but the dog refused to budge. Instead, he plopped right down on her foot, and let out a few woofs.

“Dodge, _seriously_. It’s time for bed.”

Y/N tried to move her foot out from beneath him, but any time she so much as wriggled a toe, he leaned the entirety of his weight against her leg. Unwilling to be mean to a dog -- or to Chris again, for that matter -- she offered to try to get him going by walking home with them.

Dodger’s excited bark was followed by his resigned sigh.


	8. Chapter 7: All Apologies

**Chapter 7: All Apologies**

The walk was painstakingly slow, not because of her, but because of Dodger. He had to stop and either sniff or mark every tree and post, and afterword, he would look to Y/N for praise, and whine until she gave it to him. This happened every hundred paces or so, which meant the tense, awkward silence stretched and stretched until Chris wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. 

“I’m sorry.”

Chris ran a hand over his jaw and shrugged, “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t fine,” she insisted. “I responded to your kindness with contempt. It was rude and I apologize.”

While Dodger took his time examining bark and blades of grass, Chris stared down at the sidewalk.

“You want to talk about it?” he offered when they finally got moving again.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because I’d prefer you be pissed at me than pity me,” she murmured. “Let’s just say I’m paying for a mistake I made years ago and leave it at that.”

When they stopped again, he asked her to clarify what she meant, and even though he could tell she hedged and omitted a lot, he got the gist.

“Ah,” Chris nodded thoughtfully. “Any kids involved?”

“No, thank God.”

“I’ve had some pretty bad break-ups myself. I guess it really doesn’t matter who you are – heartbreak happens to us all, and sometimes, we carry it for a long while afterward.” 

Y/N didn’t comment on his assertion; instead, she took a long pull from her water bottle, and kept whatever thoughts she had to herself. When he inquired as to how long it had been since the breakup, she admitted it had been a few years, and he made a noise of understanding.

They continued on and though Y/N didn’t say anything, he could tell by the way she carried herself that she was embarrassed. Chris felt a rush of emotion – not pity, but empathy – but before he could say so, Dodger tugged him along, and they were on the move once more. They walked in silence for another few minutes before he announced they’d finally arrived, and as soon as their feet hit the porch, the front door opened, and Sebastian appeared.

“You found him,” he said, shoulders sagging with relief.

“He made it a few blocks before I caught up,” Chris reported. “Actually, Y/N found him – kept him occupied until I got there.”

Sebastian leaned over the threshold and smiled brightly, “Oh, hey there, Quantico.”

Y/N groaned and shook her head, “Please, tell me Quin didn’t--”

“He most certainly did,” he interrupted. “He told me _all_ about you.”

Sensing Sebastian was about to make Y/N even more uncomfortable, Chris tried to quash the conversation and usher Dodger inside.

“It’s time we say goodnight, yeah? It’s late and the neighbors --”

Sebastian blew a raspberry, “Fuck the neighbors.”

Dodger’s perfectly timed bark made them all laugh and Y/N announced it was her cue to leave. After giving the dog a hearty pet goodbye, she waved, and headed back down the road.

“ _Woooow_ ,” Sebastian chuckled.

“What?”

“Clearly, you’ve forgiven her, or else you wouldn’t be starting at her ass.”

Chris blushed, turned back toward the house, and nudged Sebastian out of the way. As soon as Dodger was freed from his leash, he ran to the window, and began to whine. When Sebastian remarked that even Dodger seemed to like her, Chris told him to shut up, which only made his friend press even more.

“I’m not saying you have to propose or anything,” he drawled as he shut the door and flopped back down on the couch. “Just maybe go on a date or something?”

“Give it a rest, man.”

Sebastian licked his lips and looked up from his phone, “I Googled her.”

“For fuck’s sake, Seb--”

“I mean, I dunno who the guy is – some rich dude, I think?”

In his mind, he was chanting, _“don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,”_ but when the phone was literally thrown at him, he had no choice but to catch it. Chris caught a brief glimpse of her waving from a yacht, and within seconds, he was browsing the search results. There weren’t a ton of photos, but there was enough featured to give him a brief glimpse into life Y/N Y/L/N used to have before she worked at _The Dalliance._

A blurry photo of her with her graduating class at Quantico. Y/N’s name, associated with the son of the former FBI Director, whose mother came from old money, and whose sister had done the family proud via an advantageous marriage and having the grace to produce a son the first go around. Articles here and there from society sections that postulated when Bret would pop the question and if Y/N was even worthy of him. An obituary, which rerouted to an article about her parent’s deaths, which then lead to a photo of her at their graves and a caption that speculated Bret’s whereabouts. After that, there was a brief mention that the two of them had split, and then, nothing.

Something at the restaurant must’ve triggered these old memories and what he read, coupled with their brief conversation, gave him a better understanding of her behavior. When Sebastian asserted that he thought Y/N was cool, Chris tossed the phone back, but didn’t say anything.

“You know, she’s the first woman you’ve given more than a passing glance to since Jenny,” he slurred.

Intoxication always brought out the sentimental matchmaker in Sebastian, and though Chris tried not to get too pissed about it, he didn’t like being reminded of his continued, epic failure of a love life.

He had baggage – a fuck ton of it – and from what he’d learned, so did Y/N. Yes, there was a spark of attraction, and yeah, like a creep, he he’d taken a picture of her when he was blitzed. Sure, he was impressed by her tenacity, and the fact that Dodger took a shine to her, but what did he _really_ know about her?

Chris thought back to the night he met her and his first impression: no-nonsense and easy-going, but also ballsy and tough as nails. The combination was rather attractive, and while their exchange had been brief, Y/N had saved him from being made a fool, and also made sure he got home okay. More than anything, though, it was her complete lack of judgement that prompted him to share his thoughts on _The Dalliance_ survey. She had just been doing her job, but Chris felt it necessary to let her employers know he appreciated what she’d done for him.

It had been an unexpected -- but not altogether unwelcome -- surprise to see Y/N at the restaurant. Finding out her companion was just a friend and co-worker made it less awkward, but he’d been too nervous to strike up a conversation. Y/N surprised him again when she didn’t try to chit-chat, or make any mention their previous encounter; instead, she shared her plate and drink without qualm, and put him at ease without even trying.

She’d been warm and kind one minute, but then, glacial the next, and he had wondered what he’d done wrong. It was like being on the receiving end of emotional whiplash, and after being left on the curb, he was pissed, too, and decided to call it a night. Another chance meeting allowed them to clear the air, but it had definitely been awkward. Now, here he was, back at square one, and unsure why the hell he was even _contemplating_ this woman, let alone internet stalking her. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Chris said when Sebastian nettled him again.

“Her sadly inactive Facebook says she’s single,” came the reply.

Chris threw up his hands, “Whatever, man. I’m going to bed.”

As he headed down the hall to his bedroom, he heard Sebastian shout he was a party-pooper, which was then followed up by Dodger’s toy playing _“The Lion Sleeps Tonight,”_ and the jangling of his collar as he ran to catch up. He’d just climbed into bed and gotten comfortable when his phone pinged, and after snagging it from the nightstand, he rolled his eyes, and opened the text.

Sebastian had somehow wormed Y/N’s number out of Quin, and the subsequent _“just in case”_ message that followed made him sigh in annoyance. Chris shot back what he hoped was a curt _‘good night’_ before hooking his phone up to the charger, and hiding beneath the blankets.

Morning came too soon and re-set the routine. When he returned from his run, Sebastian was still asleep, but by the time he got out of the shower and had dressed, his friend was sitting on the couch with Dodger, and looked to be nursing a hangover. Sebastian mumbled something about mistakes being made before asking him if he’d slept well.

Hoping the previous night’s drunken conversation had been forgotten, Chris said he slept fine, and followed up by asking Sebastian if he wanted to go get breakfast. Twenty minutes later, they were sitting beneath an umbrella outside a café, because the noise inside was too much for Sebastian, who was alternating between coffee and water, and looking a little green around the gills.

“Serves you right,” Chris muttered beneath his breath.

Sebastian utilized his middle finger to push his sunglasses back up, “You going to call her?

Chris was saved from answering by the waitress’s perfect timing. As soon as the food was put down in front of him, Sebastian politely thanked her, and began to carb load. His own breakfast consisted of pesto eggs and a side of toast, but even as they ate in amicable silence, he knew his friend wasn’t going to let it go. 

Sebastian all too soon tossed his napkin on the table and sat back, “Well?”

“Can I finish my coffee before you start in on me?”

“You can’t even admit you’re attracted to her.”

Chris glared at him, “Is that what this is about? What I will or will not admit?”

“It’s about living in the moment, man,” he bit out impatiently. “Look, it’s okay to want friends with benefits. It’s okay to just want benefits. It’s also okay to fall in love, fall out of love, and fall back in love all over again. It’s part of being human.”

“Clearly, your life is more exciting than mine,” Chris replied dryly.

“Yeah, that’s because I have one, you repressed idiot.”

Chris threw the crust of his toast at Sebastian’s head, but the man was unaffected and undeterred.

“You’re always looking for ‘the one,’ Chris, and that’s fine. But until you find that person, why not let yourself explore? I’m not saying it has to be with Y/N, but just--”

“You know, you sound just like my mother,” Chris interjected irritably. “If I text Y/N, will you stop busting my fucking balls?”

“Do you actually _like_ her?”

His knee-jerk reaction was to say _“sure, yeah,”_ but he knew Sebastian wouldn’t accept such a blithe response. On the other hand, if Chris really wanted to, he could put his foot down about it, and Sebastian would back off. It really just boiled down to grousing, teasing, and his friend trying to get him laid, but when Chris actually took more than a moment to consider it, he realized he didn’t _dislike_ Y/N.

In fact, it was the quite opposite.

“Okay,” he finally admitted. “I like her.”

Sebastian grinned triumphantly over his mug, “’Atta boy.”


	9. Chapter 8: Target Practice

**Chapter 8: Target Practice**

“You sure you can handle something that big, darlin’?”

The overture was followed up by a leering look and Quin’s snort echoing from the adjacent booth.

Saturday afternoons at the gun range weren’t typically so busy, but apparently, there was some sort of odd, male bonding happening. The group of men were having an all-day bachelor party, and whoever had the bright idea of going to the gun range was someone she really, really wanted to punch in the throat. Luckily, she was nearing the end of her time and her ammunition, which meant she wouldn’t have to put up with them for long.

“Five hundred says you don’t get anywhere center,” came the follow up.

Y/N smacked the clip into place, “Tell me, do you have experience with target practice, or are you only familiar with shooting your load into your hand?”

Masculine chuckles echoed, followed by someone upping the ante, which prompted Quin to poke his head out. She did her best to ignore the men egging each other on, but the more they seemed to think her incapable, the more she wanted to give them a taste. Quinn’s wide-eyed expression, followed by his mouthing of _‘do it,’_ bolstered her confidence and made up her mind.

“A grand says I shred the bullseye,” Y/N threw out.

“And what do I get if I win?”

“What men like you think they’re entitled to,” Y/N droned. “And if you make it two grand and I lose, I’ll start by blowing you right here, in front of all your friends.”

Before anyone could back out or change their minds, she faced the target, lifted her weapon, aimed, and fired. Y/N didn’t stop until the clip was empty and when the paper target whirled forward to reveal a missing center, she sat her gun on the counter, turned, and held out her hand.

There was quite a bit of wolf whistling and bemoaning, but eventually, everyone ponied up. When the money was ruefully smacked into her hand, she grinned, and pocketed her winnings.

“How?” he demanded to know.

Quin’s quip of ‘ _Quantico, bitch,’_ made her press her lips together and shake her head. Luckily, the guy was good-natured enough to let it go, and left her to rejoin his friends. After they were both finished with their session and properly stored their weapons, Quin told her it was like taking candy from a baby, and said her triumph meant she was buying breakfast. 

A little bistro they rarely frequented due to the expense was where they ended up. After wolfing back deliciously prepared sandwiches, nibbling on pastries, and sipping life-altering espressos, they ordered more caffeine to go, and began the walk to the car.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Quin wondered. “One minute, you were you, and everything was fine. Then, I blinked, and you were the spawn of Satan.”

Y/N flinched and shook her head, “I was wondering how long it would take you to bring it up.”

“I know better than to start in on you when you have a loaded weapon nearby.”

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

Quin’s eyes flared and he followed up the look by daintily sipping his coffee. His teasing made her giggle and by the time they’d reached his SUV, she’d regaled him with the events that took place after she’d left the restaurant. Though she was the one taking him on a journey, his facial and vocal expressions were an adventure all their own.

“So, that’s all,” she finished lamely as he parked in front of his apartment building. “The air is cleared and that’ll be the end of it.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face her, “That might not exactly be true.”

Y/N made a waffling motion with her hand, “Alright, he might show up at _The Dalliance,_ but the guy is like, super busy, right? He doesn’t strike me as the type to--”

“I-may-have-given-Sebastian-your-number-to-give-to-Chris.”

The pregnant pause involved a lot of slow blinking on her part and heavy, nervous breathing on Quin’s. The longer Y/N stared at him, the redder his face became, until he all but slapped his hands over his eyes and began to make noises of remorse.

“You did _what_?” she prompted, hoping to all fucking hell he wouldn’t repeat what she thought he said.

“There were margaritas,” he mumbled guiltily. “And he’s really, really, _really_ cute. Have you _looked_ into his eyes? What was I supposed to do, say no?”

Before she could react, he subsequently launched into a very long-winded saga of what occurred after she departed. Apparently, Chris hadn’t returned, and ended up taking an Uber home. Sebastian, who was unbothered, hungry, and unwilling to get his meal to go, stayed and talked Quin’s ear off.

There could have been anywhere between four and ten pitchers of margaritas shared between them. While they drank, Sebastian asked him seemingly benign questions, which Quin answered. Somehow, that morphed into the exchange of numbers, where the conversation continued via text, and where the actor’s charm and wit won him not only a glimpse into Y/N’s personal life, but also her number.

While Quin started in again on the apologies, Y/N closed her eyes, and counted backward from ten. As her anger at the thought of a member having her personal number dissipated, reason stepped in. It wasn’t as if any real connection had been made. All in all, it could be summed up as two strangers running into each other and having a spat. The only thing Y/N had owed Chris was an apology, which she gave, and he seemed to accept. After that, there was no reason to think there’d be any sort of future interactions other than those potential ones that could or could not happen at the club.

“I really, really, _really_ am--”

She sighed and halted his confession, “It’s fine.”

“Nowhere in the history of the world has a woman said ‘it’s fine,’ and actually meant it.”

“Well, this woman actually means it. Truly, Quin – it’s okay.”

“Oookaaaaay?” he asked warily.

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re not?”

“Not at all.”

“Because you don’t think he’ll call?”

“Not only will he _not_ call, he won’t even text,” she asserted.

Quin placed a hand on her knee, “But what if he does?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Trust me – he won’t.”

The debate had potential to continue, but all it took was a reminder of his early dinner with Logan to receive a smacking kiss on the check and a departing wave as she walked to her own car. She herself had a standing date with the post office, and after stopping at the ATM, she made her way to the USPS, and parked.

When it came to this, it always took her a few minutes to steel her nerves. After a few, shaky but steadying breaths, Y/N retrieved one of the many flat-rate shipping in the back seat, readied it with tape, and wrapped the cash and the remainder of her winnings in both an envelope and bubble wrap. After smacking on an address label and even more tape, she took it inside, and watched as it was weighed, marked, and put in the departure basket.

Receipt in hand, she snapped a photo, brought up Bret’s contact information, and sent it and the amount included off in a text. With him, it was always a guess as to whether he would reply, and after not hearing back for over five minutes, Y/N let out a relieved sigh, and headed back to her apartment.

The remainder of the morning was spent doing chores she’d been sorely neglecting. Working doubles and hanging out with Quin after hours often meant take out, which produced an unseemly and alarming amount pizza and Chinese boxes. Leftovers that had long gone bad were pitched, along with anything else in the fridge that looked suspicious. Dishes were tackled next, followed by dusting, and then, the dreaded bathroom. Armed with rubber gloves and bleach, she was up to her elbows in some truly alarming soap scum when she remembered she needed to switch over the laundry.

Afraid the creep from down the hall was taking a gander at her underwear again, Y/N quickly snapped off her gloves, washed her hands, and ran to the basement. When the room revealed itself to be empty, she hurried to toss her clothes into the dryer before heading back up.

With one eye on the clock and the other on the toilet, Y/N redefined ‘elbow grease,’ and by early evening, everything was in order. Vowing to herself she would never let her place get that bad again, and knowing it more than likely would, she packed everything away, grabbed the laundry basket, and began matching socks and ironing shirts. Though her wardrobe was sparse, it was all her own, and she did her best to keep her uniforms and what street clothes she had looking decent. One it was stored in drawers or hung in the closet, she peeled off what she called her ‘slob clothes,’ and showered off the sweat and grime.

A quick dry off, a pair of shorts, and a t-shirt later, she was in the kitchen and making a sandwich for dinner when her phone signaled that someone was trying to reach out and touch her. Unsure of who it could be, she approached with caution, and was relieved to see Quin’s name on the screen.

_Getting a ride into work. See you later tonight. -Q_

Though slightly bummed at the prospect of missing their usual carpool shenanigans, Y/N was happy for her friend. She knew Logan had offered him a lift, which meant he would more than likely show up late for count again, and would be unashamed by it.

“Good for you,” Y/N murmured, following up her thumbs up with a wink.

Another look at the time revealed she had a handful of hours before she needed to leave for her shift. With nothing more to do, Y/N decided to squeeze in a nap, and headed for her bedroom. After making a mental note to wash the bedding, she set the phone on her alarm, and climbed between the sheets. It didn’t take long for her to start drifting off, and though she thought she heard another text come through, it was too late to answer.

She was out.


	10. Chapter 9: The Hook

**Chapter 9: The Hook**

On Sunday morning, just before dawn, Sebastian flew the coop. According to his note, his manager was not pleased with the disappearing act, and wanted him to haul ass back to New York.

Chris received a follow up text from him later that afternoon; Sebastian thanked him for the good time, said they’d see each other soon, and to, _“for the love of fucking God, just text her.”_ Since he didn’t see the harm in thanking Y/N for ensuring Dodger’s safety, he shot her a picture of the sleeping dork, and expressed gratitude from them both. The departure of his friend and the lack of response he received from Y/N was how February ended.

March arrived as a revolving door of suitcases, planes, and hotels, and there was more than plenty on his plate. Signing on for the Apple TV series _Defending Jacob;_ interviews about what it felt like retiring and ‘hanging up the shield’; explaining how Trump was allowing the country to go to hell in a handbasket; incessant questions about why he was still single; trying not to reveal too much about _The Red Sea Diving Resort_ …

Filming on _Defending Jacob_ was to start in April and the premier of _End Game_ was at the end of the month. It was now the middle of March, and that meant he would have less than a week at home before flying out to Massachusetts, doing a turn-and-burn back to LA, and then, back to Massachusetts. The hours he kept were insane and Chris never got his arms fully wrapped around anything before having to hurry off to the next thing.

It was like trying to lasso a tornado and it was exhausting.

A break for lunch meant he and Dodger were dropped off at the hotel; he wolfed down his room service as quickly as possible before kicking off his shoes and practically stumbling into the bed. Even his dog was tired, because instead of the typical slobbery kisses and begs for attention, he just sighed, and plopped right down. The nap was all too brief; when someone pounded on the door, and called him for round two, it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to get to his feet.

There was a muffled _ping_ that signaled a text and after finding his phone buried beneath the blanket, he leashed up Dodger, and headed for the door. The dog sitter he hired was waiting in the lobby, and after their customary exchange of nods and giving his dog a scratch goodbye, Chris yawned, and opened the message.

_Friend or doppelganger? -Y/N_

Chris wasn’t sure what had his heart moving from his chest to somewhere in his throat – the fact she’d finally texted back, or that Y/N had sent him a photo of a toddler wearing what appeared to be a near perfect replica of the Captain America stealth suit. It was almost too damn cute for words, but he managed.

_My replacement, obviously. -C_

_Just in case you needed the smile. – Y/N_

A video file came through next; the kid was running toward her on the sidewalk with what was clearly a cardboard shield, and beneath the peals of squealing and laughing, he heard another giggle. Realizing it was Y/N’s, he rewound the video to play it again, and couldn’t help but grin.

“Cute kid,” came his manager’s voice over his shoulder. “Even cuter gal.”

Chris looked down at the screen just in time to see the little boy waving, his pink cheek pressed up against Y/N’s. She thanked him for being her hero and then, the video was cut off.

“Girlfriend?”

He rolled his eyes, “Not you, too.”

“Sorry I asked,” came the amused reply.

A thirty-minute drive and they arrived at _The Hollywood Reporter_ cover photoshoot. As soon as he stepped out of the car, he pocketed his phone, and was immediately swarmed. Wardrobe, make-up, hair – and then, a seemingly never-ending series of flashes that made Chris wonder just how much damage his eyes could take before it was irreparable.

The first thing he did after both the shoot and interview wrapped was look for another text from Y/N. When there was nothing new to greet him, he was a bit deflated, and felt rather grumpy on the ride back to the hotel. After being cooped for a while, Dodger was more than ready to get out, and after the sitter left, he changed clothes, and they went for a walk.

Back to the hotel and more room service for dinner. Dodger pacing restlessly, prompting another walk. Return to the hotel. A beer before bed and an additional walk. Though the digs were more than adequate, he couldn’t get comfortable; his tossing and turning made his pup huff and retreat to the couch. It was now one in the morning and though Chris was exhausted, he couldn’t fall asleep. 

The second beer didn’t help. Neither did watching a movie. A hot shower and rubbing one out only succeeded in making him feel pathetic. By four AM, he’d resorted to counting sheep, and Dodger’s perpetual snoring was really starting to get on his nerves.

Chris wasn’t sure if it was bravery, sleep depravity, or the remembrance of Sebastian telling him to live in the moment, but somehow, his phone ended up in his hand, and he was texting.

_You awake? -C_

_Just got home from work. -Y/N_

There was five minutes of radio silence before she texted again.

_Is it weird of me to ask if you’re okay? -Y/N_

_No weirder than me texting you at 4 AM. -C_

_Touché. -Y/N_

When he asked her how her night went, she replied the kleptomaniacs had done it again; this time, they’d hidden their wares in some _very_ interesting places, and she’d had to supervise the visit to the ER for the retrieval. The burst of laughter he let out was loud enough to wake Dodger, who yawned and groaned before rejoining him on the bed.

_My life = So. Fucking. Weird. -Y/N_

Chris prompted her for more, which she gave, and he was pretty sure his grin didn’t let up for well over an hour. There was one particular story Y/N said she absolutely could not tell, as having any evidence of it in writing would get her fired, and that alone prompted him to hit the call button.

“You can’t tease me like that,” he said when she answered.

Y/N giggled, “It’s really, really bad. Part funny, part gross, part just really fucking _strange_.”

“I think I can take it.”

“Well, saddle up, cowboy, because this is a wild ride…”

The story from start to finish took up another hour, not because it was particularly long, but because the details were profoundly foul. Between her, _“No, no, wait,”_ his repeating of, _“Are you serious? No fucking way,”_ and the bouts of laughter, it all eventually got told. By the end, Chris was in tears, and using the corner of the sheet to wipe his face.

“Who _does_ that?” he asked. “I mean, who _seriously_ does that?”

“Look, man, what people get up to in those private rooms…” she replied dryly. “I swear, someone had a kink for barnyard hoedowns because no less than six sets of chaps and cowboy boots were found. And who the fuck knows where the get-ups and the goat came from?”

“Yeah, you’re right – your life really is fucking weird.”

“So, now, it’s your turn. Regale me with the tale of your day.”

Chris cleared his throat and adjusted his pillow, “It wasn’t nearly as exciting as yours.”

“Tell me anyway,” Y/N insisted.

While her stories were hilarious, his sounded more like a laundry list of complaints. When Chris realized how petulant it all seemed, he stopped mid-sentence, and sighed.

“I sound like an ungrateful prick, don’t I?”

“No, you don’t. You sound like…”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re exhausted,” she replied quietly. “And not very happy.”

A beeping sound in his ear indicated his battery low, and a glance toward the clock on the nightstand indicated it was time to get up. It was 7 AM, he had another interview in two hours, and he hadn’t slept a wink. Chris let out a low curse, threw back the blankets, and stumbled his way out of the bed and through an apology.

“Don’t apologize for your life,” Y/N told him bluntly. “Just make sure you live it how you want to.”

After that departing kernel of wisdom, she said good night, and though Chris really didn’t want to, he said goodbye. As soon as he hung up and his cell was back on the charger, Dodger opened his eyes, looked up at him, and cocked his head.

Unable to help but feel as if his pup were somehow judging him, Chris grabbed a change of clothes, and proceeded to ready himself for the next round.


	11. Chapter 10: The Line

**Chapter 10: The Line**

“You ready?” his voice echoed.

She swallowed hard and blindly waved her hands in front of her, “Ready for what?”

The rev of an engine covered the startled scream that clawed its way out of her throat. A flash of light revealed Quin astride a motorcycle, helmet on, and visor up. An identical bike was supported on a stand next to him, and the extra protective gear was thrown over the padded seat.

“Are you coming or what?” he prompted as he zipped up his jacket and pulled on his gloves.

Y/N clamped her hands over her mouth and ran toward the bike.

“Just for the night,” Quin said with a wink. “Happy Birthday.”

Vibrating with excitement, she geared up, and hopped on. The absolute power unleashed after the kickstart released a flood of adrenaline, and she nearly wept with happiness.

As far as the FBI had been concerned, any vehicle could be used in a pursuit, and all trainees were required to familiarize themselves. In carefully controlled environments, she learned how to handle herself, and the thrill turned into an addiction. Eventually, she bought a bike of her own, but after she met Bret, it went into storage. He didn’t much care for what he deemed to be an _“unsafe, classless way of travelling,”_ and she’d been too full of heart-eyes and butterflies to see it for the insult it actually was. She’d held onto that bike for as long as possible, but in the end, she ended up having to sell it to keep making payments.

Unwilling to let the old memory soil the new one she was about to make, Y/N gave Quin a thumbs up, slammed the visor down, and eased it out of the garage. It didn’t take long for her to get right back into the groove of it, and after a few turns around the lot, they agreed to head for the coastline.

Less than thirty minutes later, they were letting the horsepower loose, and winding their way along an empty stretch. Though the mics were live, they didn’t say anything, and they didn’t have to. The sky was wide open in all directions, black and blue all at once, and the air rushing over was scented by the sea and tasted of salt. Her heart was positively pounding and her face was starting to hurt from smiling, but she didn’t give a damn. It was an exhilarating moment of mirth and joy, gifted to her on her birthday, and Y/N would never, ever forget it.

They drove around for another hour or so before stopping at a beachside restaurant for dinner. Quin treated her to some of the best seafood she’d had in years. They both skipped the wine and instead, opted for a decadent dessert, and one glass of champagne each.

“To my best friend,” Quin toasted, glass held aloft. “You don’t look a day over twenty-one.”

Y/N stuck her tongue out at him as they clinked glasses. After sips and selfies, they knocked back the bubbly. While he mentioned they needed to gas up before returning the motorcycles, Y/N checked her phone, and realized she’d missed two texts.

“I’ll meet you over by the bikes,” Quin told her as he got up to go pay.

She nodded and stood from her chair; as she walked, Y/N read the first message, and swallowed hard.

_Will land in a few hours. Want to grab dinner? -C_

After taking a seat on the bike, she bit her lower lip, and let her thumbs hover over the keyboard. Being on the nightshift meant she slept while he worked, but there were always a few hours of overlap. They’d spoken at least three times a week for over a month, and texted nearly every day. Without really meaning to, she and Chris had established almost a routine of sorts, but because it was her night off, and Quin had surprised her, she’d completely forgotten he was returning to LA.

_Just got home. Let me know? -C_

The second message made her clear her throat nervously. In all the times they’d chatted and texted, he’d never brought up actually getting together. Y/N wasn’t immune to his charms, nor was she blind to the fact that they’d gotten comfortable and flirty, but she didn’t put any stock into it. Chris had more than enough going on in his life, and her own, personal state of being was an absolute shitshow if there ever was one. She also hadn’t told him the whole truth about the situation she was in; that would mean getting too up close and personal, and Y/N wasn’t sure either of them were ready for that particular conversation.

The time-stamp said it had been sent to her over an hour ago. Unwilling to make up a lie about her whereabouts or ignore him, Y/N sent him the picture she and Quin had taken, along with an explanation for her delay in response. A minute later, her screen lit up with confetti, and he asked if she had any plans for later.

“You ready to hit the road?”

Y/N jumped and pressed her phone to her chest, “Yeah, just waiting on you.”

Quin raised an eyebrow, “Who are you talking to?”

“Nobody.”

As soon as the word squeaked out of her mouth, Quin’s eyes widened, and she knew she was in trouble. Heat flooded her face not long after, which prompted him to issue a threat: either give it up, or he was taking her phone, and finding out for himself.

Instead of saying Chris’s name out loud, she mouthed it, and it was enough. Quin must’ve sensed her apprehension, because the twinkle in his eye faded just as quickly as it appeared, and he frowned.

“Why do you look so ashamed? And why keep it a secret from me, of all people?”

“Because I like him, okay?”

“He clearly likes you, too, and given the way--”

“I can’t,” she interjected. “And you know why.”

The silence that followed was full of disappointment on both their sides. Quin knew all too well how she felt when it came to mixing her personal life with business; she’d crossed that line long ago, and there was no turning back. If things went beyond just phone calls and texts, the waters would become even muddier, and she just couldn’t risk it. She had mixed emotions already, and with her past, Y/N couldn’t help but think she was just damaged goods. Throw in the fact Chris was famous, that anyone could take a picture of them at any time, and the potential of Bret finding out…

Quin ran a hand over his chin and sighed, “He asked you out, didn’t he?”

She shrugged, put the phone away, and reached for her helmet, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” he protested. “It matters because you deserve to be happy.”

“Quin, it’s okay. At this point, I’m--”

“No, you know what? Fuck that. You know where he lives, right?”

She hesitated before admitting she did, which prompted him to advise her to text him back, and ask him if he wanted to go for a joyride. Though the prospect was enticing, Y/N vehemently shook her head.

Quin leveled her with a hard stare, “Just have one moment – just one moment without thinking of that asshole, or all the things that could go wrong. If nothing stood in your way, what would you do?”

Y/N knew the question was meant to both rattle and challenge her, and if anyone knew she never backed down from a challenge, it was Quin. She remembered telling Chris the first night they talked that he should live life the way he wanted to live it, and she’d be damned if she’d allow herself to be both a coward and a hypocrite.

A quick text and a promised time of arrival – that was all she sent. Y/N didn’t wait for a reply, because she was too afraid he’d say no, and she was trying so damn hard to be brave. A quick pitstop for gas on the way back, and before long, they were pulling into Chris’s driveway. A few curtains rustled, indicating neighbor curiosity, , and it wasn’t until they both killed their engines that people went back to minding their business.

She was left to wait in the driveway for so long that it prompted her to check her phone. He hadn’t texted back and it didn’t look like he was coming out. Disappointment loomed, but before it could really set in, the front door opened, but Y/N wasn’t the one who sucked in a sharp breath. Quin made a remark about him being a snack, and then, amended it by saying he was a whole damn meal.

“Quin,” she hissed.

“What? It’s not like he can hear me.”

Y/N huffed, “What would Logan say?”

“He’d agree with me,” Quin laughed. “Obviously.”

Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she also agreed. Their last conversation had been on FaceTime a little over a week ago; then, he’d been clean shaven and wearing a suit. Now, the beard was back, and he was sporting jeans, and a red, plaid shirt over a white t-shirt. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tennis shoes, and a NASA cap completed the look.

Quin took his helmet off and was the first to greet him; cordial handshake, clap on the shoulder, and a quick exchange of pleasantries. Beneath her own helmet, her face felt hot, which meant her cheeks were probably bright pink. Instead of removing it completely, she lifted the visor, and caught the tail end of Chris explaining to Quin that though he had ridden in the movies, he didn’t actually know how to drive a motorcycle.

“She does,” Quin stated as he held out his helmet.

Y/N watched Chris hesitate for a moment before accepting. From the saddle bag, Quin retrieved a spare, and pulled it on. After telling her he’d meet her back at the garage, he fired up the engine, and sped off. Unsure of whether or not to curse Quin for leaving her, or thank him later for it, Y/N kicked her own bike to life, lowered the visor, and then, patted the seat behind her.

A boyish smile she’d never seen bloomed as he took off his hat and tucked it into his back pocket. His face was soon hidden by the helmet, and with his expression masked, Chris was transformed into nothing but pure masculinity; yet, when he sat down behind her, he let out a nervous laugh, and sheepishly admitted he didn’t know what to hang on to.

Y/N grinned and revved the engine, “Hang on to me.”


	12. Chapter 11: The Sinker

**Chapter 11: The Sinker**

Chris glanced down at his phone and sighed; there was more than an hour to go on the flight and he was beyond antsy. The script on the tray in front of him was a reminder of what he was supposed to be focusing on, but couldn’t, and it wasn’t just the cramped quarters, shooting schedule, and upcoming premier that had him on edge.

It was Y/N. And just _thinking_ her name made him grind his molars.

Talking to her had become something he looked forward to on a daily basis. FaceTime, a quick call, or a text – it didn’t matter, because the more he discovered, the more he wanted to know.

Her favorite color? _Purple._ Food? _Breakfast, because she knew what she was about, son._ Movie she would never tire of? _Dead Poets Society._ Political leanings? _Tiny Hands wasn’t her President._ Music? _Eclectic – here’s a playlist to prove it._

Chris also learned Y/N couldn’t sleep without two pillows, that she got _really_ silly when she was sleepy, and deeply philosophical when she was riled. She wanted to visit Paris, not for the art or the history, but because they drank wine, smoked cigarettes, and ate bread all day, and it was something she could see herself enjoying.

They both used the word ‘fuck’ liberally, agreed cupcakes without sprinkles were just sad, and believed emojis and gifs were legitimate forms of communication. They found their deepest connections and friendships were forged by a combination of fire, sarcasm, and happenstance. They either laughed wholeheartedly or not at all, and their minds leaned equally toward the gutter and meaningful conversation. Despite being alone, Y/N wanted a family – it just wasn’t time yet; he wanted a family, but he also wasn’t ready.

If she had a bad day, she admitted it in advance, and gave him the choice whether or not to put up with what she described as her _‘piss-poor attitude.’_ If he was surly, she didn’t take it personally, and gave him the space to either get it out, or deal with it privately. If they went a few days without talking, that was okay – after all, they both had shit to do. They both had their own lives, but enjoyed each other’s company enough to keep seeking each other out. 

The foundation of a friendship had formed and nearly every topic had been covered, but there were three, glaring subjects they didn’t touch: relationships, sex, and the past.

They’d dipped their toes into the water a few times, but never fully waded in, and given the miles between them, it was understandable. It was just one of the many reasons why he’d asked her to dinner. He’d reached a point where he no longer just wanted, but _needed_ ; needed to look beyond the barriers and see if there was more – more than just companionship and conversation. He needed to look into her eyes and see what, if anything, reflected back.

Needed to know if they’d ever fall over the edge, or carefully back away.

He recalled their late-night ride -- how amused her voice had sounded when she asked if he was okay, and how she advised him to hang on tight so he wouldn’t fall off. The rumbling of the engine beneath and between their bodies, and how she gasped a little any time she accelerated. The way the scenery blurred and dissolved until there was nothing but the road, the feel of her leather jacket on his forearms, and how well they fit together. At first, he’d been terrified, but Y/N knew what she was doing, and without even trying, she made him feel alive.

Chris thought he’d been prepared when he climbed on the back of that damn motorcycle, but there was no way he could’ve prepared himself for the pureness of her unbridled joy and what it stirred inside him. By the time they got back to his house, it wasn’t just the ride that had him breathing hard; both his legs and voice shook when he asked Y/N if she wanted to come in, and when she agreed, his stomach flip-flopped.

From that moment forward, everything seemed to go into hyper-overdrive. Helmets off, kickstand down, and then, they were inside. No light and an unfamiliar space, but zero problem navigating. Dodger running over to say hello and her crouching right down to greet him. A host’s polite offer of a drink and a guest’s equally polite decline.

Breaths held. Tenseness. A murmur of, _‘I should go,’_ followed by, _‘please, don’t.’_

Close, close, and closer still. The calm before the storm…

_Chris skimmed a palm over the leather covering her left arm, “Stay.”_

_“That’s a bad fucking idea,” Y/N rasped._

_“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he pulled her closer._

_“No.”_

_The simple admission wrenched away both reservation and hesitation. The clatter of the helmets as they hit the floor, followed by his hands on her waist, and her fingers in his hair. Dragged down and under by her mouth seeking his in the dark. He was all in it because she was all in it; deep, unabashed, frantic kissing and a giddiness he’d not experienced since high school. Y/N nibbled on his lower lip before drawing it into her mouth, and after that, all it took was the slightest brush of her tongue against his, and he was done for._

_The couch was closer than the bed, and because all he could think about was getting her clothes off, he led them to it. He didn’t let up or let go; just simply pulled her down until she was straddled over him. Y/N’s hips moved in slow circles across his lap and they both fought like hell to get her jacket off and his shirt unbuttoned._

_“Don’t bother,” she panted into his mouth._

_With strength that both awed and aroused, she tore the placket, and made the buttons fly. The jacket and his shirts landed with a plop on the wood floor, and the need to feel her skin was all consuming. Chris had both hands and arms up the back of her sweater as her leather gloves crawled across his shoulders, and fuck, did she **burn** him alive when she sank her teeth into his neck. _

_Heat down his throat, in his gut, and between her legs. Sparks behind his eyes and fire in his chest when she whimpered his name, the sound floating in his ears and further addling his brain. The scent of her hair filled his lungs and though he couldn’t see a damn thing, he could feel everything; each move, each breath, and the thrum of her pulse._

_Y/N reached for his belt the same time he reached for the snap on her jeans. They were right there, just on the edge of what promised to be utter bliss for them both, when somebody rang the doorbell. Barely a pause of acknowledgement was given, but when the bell was followed up by a pounding on the door and Dodger letting out a warning growl, Y/N pulled away._

_“This is a respectable neighborhood!” someone shouted from outside. “If you don’t get that bike out of here, I swear, I’m calling the cops!”_

_Whatever it was – fear, embarrassment, or worry – Y/N scrambled up off his lap and moved away. The neighbor’s actions were more than just a cockblock, because even without being able to see her expression, Chris knew the moment had been ruined._

_“Light switch is by the front door,” Chris told her._

_A second later, the room was illuminated, and the evidence of what had transpired was everywhere. Buttons strewn across the coffee table and her leather jacket atop of his shirts. Her helmet, which had rolled when she dropped it, now near the threshold of the kitchen, along with his crushed NASA hat._

_Stunned, he watched Y/N grab her things, and heard her apologize. The sight of her bolting for the exit had him on his feet, but just before she reached for the handle, he planted himself right up behind her, and smacked his hand on the door above her head._

_“What if you didn’t leave?”_

_“I have to.”_

_“But what if you didn’t?” he countered as he reached for the light switch. “What would happen if I just shut this off and took you to bed?”_

_“You’d have some very unhappy neighbors.”_

_“Fuck the neighbors,” he growled._

_Chris removed his hand from the door, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her flush against him. The light went off a second later, but unfortunately, Y/N didn’t allow him to take her to bed._

“We have begun our initial descent. Please, stow your belongings, and put all trays in the upright position,” came the announcement over the intercom. “We will be landing at Boston Logan International Airport in thirty minutes. The weather…”

Pulled from his musings, Chris stretched his arms, and followed instructions. The plane touched down and because his seat was right up front, he was able to get his carry on, and disembark first. He was only in town for a few days, which meant he didn’t have any luggage to retrieve, and was able to head straight for the exit. A driver was waiting for him and after his bag was put in the trunk, they were off.

A quick pitstop at the hotel to freshen up before he was back in the car again and headed to the set. It was an all-day affair of wardrobe and rehearsals, followed by filming late into the night. Television was not at all like the movies and because it was a miniseries, they were pressed to keep things on time and within budget. Though he was back home, there wasn’t any time for visits – just three back-to-back fifteen-hour days before they broke, and then, Chris was headed back to LA.

When he got home, there was no time to decompress. Chris had a final suit fitting and a lot of preparation to do before the _Endgame_ premier. A series of phone interviews that consisted of the same thing: yes, he was excited; yes, he was grateful; yes, it truly was the end of an era. No, he couldn’t talk about what was next; no, he didn’t have any secret plans to join in on any further Marvel adventures; no, he wasn’t taking anyone to the premier.

The day finally arrived and it was both chaotic and bittersweet. The Los Angeles Convention Center had been packed full of people who were chomping at the bit to see the final chapter. Afterword, there had been a lot of emotion; Chris was pretty damn near close to his fourth round of tears when Downey hugged him tight.

“You okay, kid?” he asked.

Chris nodded and stepped back. Robert gave him a rather quizzical stare before turning to address the crowd. The cast each took a quick turn expressing their appreciation and happiness. The producers, directors, and Marvel Studios President had their turns as well. It truly was an epic moment of both joy and sadness, but before things could get too mopey, Kevin Feige stepped up to the mic.

“There’s a party somewhere,” he said with a bright smile. “Let’s go find it.”


	13. Chapter 12: Truth Will Out

**Chapter 12: Truth Will Out**

Clearly, more invitations had been sent and accepted, because it wasn’t Chris or Sebastian who suggested _The Dalliance_ , but Renner, and he thought the occasion called for a memorable blowout.

They hadn’t given anyone at the club any warning – they simply showed up, and all it took was a thirty-second phone call to see the entire entourage, regardless of member status, escorted inside.

The prospect of seeing Y/N, even if she was working, gave him more of a headrush than the premier. He shot her a text, but wasn’t able to see if she replied, because his phone had to be stored away. Pulled in all directions, Chris hadn’t been given so much as a moment to look for her. On and off the dance floor; corks popping and toasts being yelled into the air; shots and more shots, followed by even more dancing and drinking and an aerial show… 

It was three in the morning when he finally got a breather.

Sebastian, Mackie, and his wife, Sheletta, had taken up residence on a plush lounger just on the edges of the dancefloor. They moved over to make room, but he waved them off, and took a seat on an empty one within chatting proximity. There were discarded glasses and empty bottles of champagne strewn across a table nearby, and an awful lot of straws and napkins on the floor. The staff was doing their best with the influx and upkeep, but it was clearly a struggle. By the end of the night, the place would more than likely be destroyed, but at the moment, everyone was having too much of a good time to think anything of it.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this many drunk, white folk in a room before,” Mackie commented sarcastically. “Ya’ll really should see yourselves – I mean, the dancing… It’s just terrible, man. Just shameful.”

“Go show ‘em how it’s done, then, man,” Sebastian replied, giving his shoulder a nudge.

Mackie knocked back his drink, got to his feet, and held a hand out to his wife, “I think we will.”

The two of them disappeared, and Sebastian was spirited away not long after, but Chris wasn’t alone for long. Downey came from out of nowhere, handed him a drink, and unceremoniously plopped down next to him.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded loudly over the din.

“Just tired,” Chris replied lamely.

Robert turned slightly to face him, “You’re too young to be tired.”

Chris sipped his drink and loosened his tie, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t exactly the right time or occasion for serious talk, and he was just about to change the subject when Downey grinned knowingly, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t said a word, but the man’s expression conveyed he knew all too well why Chris was mopey.

Before Chris could ask him how the hell he knew, Robert gave him a customary kiss on the check, and stood up just in time for the owner of the club to appear with Y/N in tow. Chris immediately followed suit, joined in, and did his level best not to stare at her. There were handshakes, followed by questions of whether or not they were enjoying themselves, and reassurances they were being well taken care of and catered to.

“Fantastic security team, by the way,” Robert complimented with a nod in Y/N’s direction. “Especially this one. Absolutely nothing escapes her attention.”

“Y/N is one of our best,” Logan supplied graciously. “As you know, the firm we use has the most qualified, reputable candidates.”

Robert completely disregarded Logan’s remark and looked at Y/N, “Have you given it anymore thought?”

“No, sir,” she replied. “Sorry.”

“Would you reconsider?” he prompted. “My wife has been insisting we need to hire someone full-time. She’s here, by the way -- maybe you’d like to talk to her about it?”

The job offer hung in the air, and for the first time ever, Chris saw Y/N absolutely flummoxed. He, too, was also very surprised; he wasn’t sure how Robert knew Y/N, but there was a familiarity that bespoke of past interactions. Maybe he was a member and they’d met before?

_“Y/L/N, we need you, stat,_ ” shouted a disembodied voice over the walkie-talkie. _“They’ve done it again.”_

A quick apology was offered, and then, Y/N was gone, and the owner also excused himself.

“So, you’ve met Y/N before?” Downey remarked. “Is she the one you’re brooding over?”

As they started walking, Chris tugged his tie again, and evaded the question, “How do you know her?”

“The owner wasn’t just bragging when he said the security is the best,” Robert replied simply. “I hire from the same firm on occasion, and Ms. Y/L/N’s resume is one I’ve been keeping an eye on for a while now. I’m not sure why, but I just can’t get seem to get her to jump ship.”

“But you still want to hire her?”

“Our last full-time guard retired,” he explained, as if it were obvious. “Y/N was good enough to be groomed for the FBI, and has the chops to handle the lifestyle – why wouldn’t I want to hire her?”

Chris didn’t have to ask for any further explanation, because just a few feet in front of them, there Y/N was, proving the point. She’d stepped into the hallway with both hands on her hips and her head bowed. Two women he recognized all too well teetered out behind her, followed by Renner, who had clearly fallen victim to the same grift Chris had.

Though he couldn’t hear what was being said, Chris could see she was pissed, and a finger toward the exit was all it took for the other two guards to steer the now shrieking ladies toward the door. One of them broke free and doubled back, hand raised and ready to strike, but Y/N grabbed her wrist well before the open palm ever got close to her face.

Whatever words were exchanged must’ve been heated, because Renner could be heard bellowing, _‘woah, woah, woah!’_ before Y/N shoved the woman so hard, she fell on her ass. The guard she’d broken free from didn’t even blink; he simply put her back on her feet, and dragged her away.

Quin came onto the scene seconds later, seized Y/N gently by the upper arm, and pulled her in close. A whispered exchange and a lot of nodding before Quin squeezed her shoulder and left. Renner, though hesitant, stepped forward, and whatever he said made her laugh. Chris heard Y/N insist she was fine before she told him to have fun and disappeared again from sight.

“This would be your cue to go after her,” Robert said with a nudge.

Chris shook his head, “She probably just wants to be left alone.”

An arched eyebrow and a sympathetic pat to his cheek – that was how Downey responded – and after reminding Chris he didn’t just play a brave man, he actually was one, Robert advised they check in on Renner, and make sure he still had his virtue.

“You alright there, stud?” Robert asked good-naturedly.

Jeremy ran a hand over the scratch on his neck and winced, “What is with the fake nails these days, man? They’re like talons.”

“And here I was thinking you were about to throw yourself into the middle of a cat fight.”

“Oh, definitely not. And as far as I’m concerned, that guard shoulda kicked her ass instead of just shoving her on it.”

Always one for juicy gossip, Robert prompted Renner to share. He started from the beginning: dancing and inappropriate shenanigans; they seemed to be having a good time, but somehow, his wallet and keys went missing. Though the women were clearly guilty, they wouldn’t give his stuff back, which is what prompted him to call security.

“The guard said it was their third strike,” Jeremey finished. “That gal who came back – the one who tried to start the fight – she mentioned some guy named Bret? Said she knew about the revenge porn?”

Chris’s mind had been elsewhere for the majority of the regaling saga, but that name in conjunction with those words made all the cylinders in his brain grind to a halt. Apparently, the little thief remarked that she knew Y/N was paying to keep it hidden, but didn’t doubt the films were terrible, because Y/N was a “frigid bitch who never let anyone have any fun.” Renner went on to say he had absolutely no idea whether or not it was fact or fiction, but believed there was no way a woman as hot as Y/N had ice in her veins.

“I’d watch it,” Jeremy admitted with a shrug.

Robert waved his hands in warning, “Okay, let’s just _not_ go there.”

The rational part of him knew Renner didn’t mean anything by it; after all, he was drunk, probably high, and didn’t know Y/N or how Chris felt about her. Jeremy couldn’t possibly comprehend that finding out Y/N was being extorted by her ex via revenge porn would make Chris want to, for the first time in his life, commit an act of bloody, unadulterated violence.

Y/N wasn’t hung up on her ex – she was literally chained to him -- and it was sick and terrible and explained so much. It was the reason why she held down multiple jobs, insisted on paying her own way, and kept refusing to go on a date. That bastard was the reason why she turned down what promised to be a very lucrative, long-term position with Downey, why she never brought up her past, and why, even in his arms, she’d still felt too far away. 

In that moment, Chris was deeply heartbroken – not only for her and her situation, but because he realized Y/N had been too scared to trust him enough to confide in him. He understood and wasn’t angry at her for it, but nevertheless, it hurt.

“Hey, man, you still having your house warming party this weekend?” Renner asked. “If you are, I think you should invite the gal with the gun – I’d like to get to know her better.”

The tone of his voice was laced with suggestion and insinuation. Chris glared at Jeremy, then, looked at Robert; the elder knew what was up, but the younger was oblivious, and that was when Chris announced he had to leave. He didn’t even bother with proper goodbyes; he simply turned on a heel, and walked away.

On his way to the exit, he ran into Quin, and all it took was an exchange of glances for Y/N’s friend to know that he knew. Someone brought Chris his phone, handed it over, ushered him out.

He stepped onto the sidewalk, right into a waiting car, and as soon as the door was shut, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. Fighting to remain calm, he readied himself to type out _‘we need to talk,’_ but before he could, Y/N sent a message of her own.

_I understand if you never want to see me again. -Y/N_

With the car now on the move and headed to his house, Chris sighed, and tapped out his response.

_We will talk about this. Saturday. My house. 3 PM. -C_

She must’ve sensed there was no room for negotiation, because a minute later, she agreed, and followed up by saying she was sorry.

This time, it was Chris who didn’t respond.


	14. Chapter 13: Unmasked

**Chapter 13: Unmasked**

Y/N cursed herself for being a fool; this had been inevitable, after all.

Secrets _always_ managed to get out.

She spent the next three days in a constant state of hyper-vigilance, and the nightmares she’d stopped having over a year ago started back up again. Even though Quin promised nobody else knew, and nobody was talking about her behind her back, she couldn’t help but feel her co-workers were looking at her funny. Margaret hadn’t indicated she was in any way displeased, and Logan appeared to be oblivious, but Y/N remained overly cautious.

Just thinking about the upcoming conversation with Chris made her stomach churn. While she hadn’t lied to him, she hadn’t been completely honest, either, and she’d never intended for him to find out like this. Going to the post office Friday before her shift had wound her up so badly, she’d gotten sick; it was like it was happening all over again, and as she dry-heaved in the parking lot, she realized, more than anything – more than never seeing or hearing from him ever again – she feared his judgement.

Feared how he would perceive her now he knew who she really was.

The shift rotation meant she had the weekend off, and when it arrived, the countdown was truly on. Y/N woke up just after noon, and not pleasantly. It was a crude and rude awakening, and she spent the next hour in the fetal position, crying until she was both spent and numb. She wasn’t sure how she got out of the bed and showered, but she managed.

Y/N wasn’t sure by whose hands that her hair and teeth were brushed, or how she was able to put clothes on, but there she was in the mirror, reflection unrecognizable in rarely-worn sandals, purple and black floral print A-line maxi-dress, and white cardigan buttoned up to the base of her throat.

Given the state of things, she just didn’t bother with makeup. Nobody was going to be looking at her anyway, so, sunglasses large and dark enough to cover her red-rimmed eyes, and a purse from the back of the closet – that was all she needed.

Y/N parked at the curb outside Chris’s house just before three, and that old adage from her days at Quantico of, _“if you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re late, don’t bother,”_ ran through her mind. It was a peculiar thought to have as she rang the bell, and it was made even more peculiar when it wasn’t Chris who greeted her at the door, but Sebastian.

“Hey, there!” he hailed. “Everyone’s out back. Grab whatever you want from the fridge and join us!”

It wasn’t until that moment she realized just how much she’d been on auto-pilot; the driveway was overflowing, which was why she’d had to park in the street. There were sounds of splashing coming from the back yard, which was muffled by music, and someone was grilling.

She vaguely heard Sebastian shut the door, inform her the bathroom was the first door to the left, and say he hoped she brought a swim suit. Y/N was pretty sure she must’ve made some sort of noise in acquiesce or understanding, because he left smiling, and she was alone.

The two times Y/N had visited Chris’s home had been at night, and both times, she’d been too distracted to take notice of anything. Now, as she looked outside, she saw a high wall and a gate that, if it weren’t open, would enclose the entire front lawn. To one side, there was a fountain set, an attached two-car garage, and the siding was stucco.

Inside, it was all contemporary; a wide-open, formal living room with dark, hardwood floors, a pitched ceiling, and a fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed mountain top and San Fernando Valley views. Y/N pointedly looked away from the couch and instead, focused on the living area adjacent, with lofty ceilings, exposed truss, and steel hardware. There was a built-in wet bar and a wall of glass doors, and the progression of the space lead to the kitchen. All name-brand, with dark cabinetry, beautiful lighting, and a massive island laden with housewarming gifts. It gave way to yet another living space and glass doors that revealed a back yard full of people.

Careful not to be seen, Y/N retraced her steps, and explored further. Two rooms that appeared to be set up for guests, each with their own private bathroom, and another bathroom that looked like it belonged in a magazine. Unthinkingly, she entered the last room, which was clearly the master-suite. A California King opposite a full wall of windows. A dressing room bigger than a studio apartment, filled with the scent of his cologne, and so many sweaters. An adjoining bathroom that featured stone flooring, a deep tub, a separate shower, and a vanity topped with marble.

From the private quarters of Chris’s bedroom, a floating deck extended out to a semi-secluded stretch of yard. Off to one side, Y/N could see the back of the house; pool, spa, and a tree-shaded viewing spot ringed by a stone wall. Just below that, a long, concrete bench, and a built-in fire pit. A place like this came with a hefty price-tag, but she knew it wasn’t why Chris had chosen it. It was private and secure, yet, inviting and wide-open – a contradiction of sorts, much like the man himself.

This house being his made sense. 

Somehow, Y/N found the door to the garage, and then, another door, which opened up to a private guest suite. No less grand than the house itself, it featured an open-concept kitchen, living, and dining area, a swank bathroom, and a bedroom that opened up to a private balcony via a sliding glass door.

It was where Chris found her; hidden away and separate from it all. When he asked if he could join her, she was struck yet again just by how remarkably sensitive he was. Y/N gently reminded him it was his house, and she was the one who had rudely given herself a private tour. They were outside, but not visible, and out of earshot of his guests. While Chris took a seat, she occupied the chair opposite, and held her purse tightly in her lap.

Board shorts, slicked-back hair, and the scent of chlorine; he’d been in the pool and must’ve just come out, because his shirt was damp and there were trickles of water still winding down his neck and arms. He’d already gotten some sun, which was evident in the pink coloring that dusted his cheeks and brow, and made even more prominent when he pulled off his sunglasses and perched them on his head.

Y/N took a deep, steadying breath, “Will you let me get it all out before you say anything?”

His nod was curt, but sincere, and it prompted her to start from the beginning.

College, the academy, and graduation. Bret’s family, their relationship, and how perfect it all seemed until her parents died and the dark underbelly was revealed.

Realizing throughout their entire relationship, Bret had kept receipts, and at the end, made it seem like he’d been paying for sex; subsequently, he wanted to punish her because she wanted out, and therefore, wasn’t worthy of the money he wasted, let alone the time. Then, the horror of what he’d done, without her permission, and the terror of never being able to live it down if those videos got out. 

Knowing she’d given up not just a career, but a whole different life she’d now never know. Dissolved friendships and the loss of the life she knew; moving back home, broke, and completely eviscerated. Being absolutely no stranger to hard work, but never having to struggle like this, and yet, having to do it in order to protect what little dignity she’d been left with.

Quin was the only one who knew, and if he hadn’t been so stubborn in his relentless pursuit of her friendship, she wasn’t sure how she would’ve ended up. Y/N took comfort in the fact that she had co-workers who seemed to like her, and boss who trusted her, but it always felt as if it were built on lies. Save for Quin, nobody really knew her, and until she was able to escape the mess she’d made, it was better not to get too close, too attached, or too involved. 

There was no legal recourse; she couldn’t afford to take on his family, because they were far too powerful, would bury her in a heartbeat, and also get away with it. Y/N couldn’t fathom being dragged through the mud, not only by Bret and his social-circle, but also the press, and anyone else who felt the need to pass judgement. Feeling disgusting and dismayed, ashamed and appalled, and so _enraged_ because he’d stolen everything, and still demanded more.

Admittedly, it wasn’t _really_ about the money – it was about feeling as if she were owned by Bret, indefinitely, and even if the debt was paid, she didn’t trust he’d keep his end of the bargain and get rid of the videos. She couldn’t trust _herself_ with anyone, either, because any romantic relationship could be sullied by the truth and possibility of revenge porn, starring her, finding its way onto the internet.

“So, that’s it,” Y/N finished rather lamely.

True to his word, Chris had stayed silent the entire time, but the longer he remained tightlipped, the more nauseated she felt. She hadn’t been able to look at him while she’d spilled her guts, and when she lifted her gaze from her lap, Y/N realized he wasn’t looking at her, either.

Eyes closed and jaw ticking, he was alternating between clenching his fists, rubbing his knees, and taking slow, deep breaths. It was definitely rage he was keeping a choke-collar on, and really, she couldn’t blame him.

The way he suddenly burst up from his chair made her jump and avert her gaze right back down to her lap. She hadn’t cried – not once in the telling of the entire, sordid thing – but now, her eyes were burning. Chris stood at the threshold of the door, and cleared his throat harshly; she thought he was going to tell her to get out, but he didn’t.

“Come inside.”

His tone was gruff, but not unkind, and she was so surprised by the request that she found herself doing what he asked. As soon as Y/N crossed the threshold, she heard the door shut, and the lock slide into place. The breadth of Chris’s shoulders cast a wide shadow over the bedroom, and as he approached, she found herself unable to face him, even when he asked her to.

Soft footfalls and then, he was standing so close behind her, she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He rasped out the words, _“I don’t care,”_ took the purse from her hand, and tossed it to the floor.

“I don’t care,” Chris repeated right in her ear. “I don’t care who you were before, or what he has on you, or what anyone _thinks_ , for that matter.”

Y/N swallowed hard as he trailed a fingertip up the center of her sweater. He anchored her to him by keeping one hand on her waist, while using the other to undo each of the buttons. When the halves parted, he fisted the fabric covering her shoulder, and yanked both the sweater and the strap of her dress down.

After moving her hair out of the way, Chris’s mouth and nose ghosted briefly over her ear, and then, his lips and teeth fastened to the crook of her neck. His words were pure gravel against the side of her throat, but they were clear.

“He will _never_ have any part of the woman you are now, and I won’t let him take any more of who you were,” he snarled. “And when I have you, I’ll have _all_ of you, because I _want all of you_ – understand?”

She let out a ragged breath, nodded, and felt his tongue sooth the rather harsh bite he’d issued. Soon, his mouth was moving to the other side, and he was using both hands to slowly lift up the hem of her dress. Hot palms moved over her outer thighs before travelling inward; a plea had just escaped her throat when there was a knock on the door, and the sound of someone shouting that Chris was rudely neglecting his guests.

They both adjusted and righted themselves before Chris went to the living room, opened the door, and glared at Sebastian.

“Hello, _guest_ ,” Chris bit out. “Please, say hello to my other _guest._ ”

Y/N fastened the final button, grabbed her purse from the floor, and stepped out, “Hey, Sebastian.”

Sebastian grinned cheekily, rose on tiptoe, and waved, “Hey, Quantico.”


	15. Chapter 14: Glass Houses

**Chapter 14: Glass Houses**

Though Chris’s blood was boiling with a potent cocktail of annoyance and arousal, he returned to the back yard, and resumed playing host.

Y/N appeared shortly after, can of lime-soda in hand, and Sebastian right at her side. Chris heard him say something about inviting Quin, and soon as the text was shot off, Sebastian gently took her by the elbow, and began to introduce her around.

Nearly everyone who had been invited showed up, and though his backyard was sizable, maneuvering wasn’t exactly easy. There were people everywhere, but if Y/N seemed overwhelmed, she didn’t show it; she seemed comfortable and genuine in her graciousness, and her confidence made him worry less.

“The prodigal son returns!” Robert greeted from the grill with a click of the tongs. “With an honored guest, I see. Have you two kissed and made up?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, “Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m amazing and look sexy in an apron.”

“Damn right!” Susan called from her seat by the pool, prompting Downey to blow her a kiss.

“What happened to the music?” Mackie asked, arms outstretched in protest. “Who the hell is in charge here? I want to speak to a manager!”

Mark and Hemsworth yelled out they were on it, and a few seconds later, the tunes were back. Chris did a quick spot check to make sure everyone had a drink before looking in on the food situation.

Long tables had been pushed up against the house, and were overflowing with an assortment of appetizers and sides. Chris had gotten quite a bit of it catered, but when Downey and Mackie found out he considered ordering out for the barbecue as well, they’d protested, and offered to take turns manning the four grills he ended up renting for the occasion.

Between the late afternoon sun, swimming, and general excitement, everyone was hungry. When Robert finally laid out plates heaping with steaks, chicken, ribs, burgers, and hotdogs, everyone lined up. The tongs were passed like a baton, and with Mackie on deck, Robert grabbed a water from one of the many coolers laying around, stole a kiss from his wife, and stretched out next to her beside the pool.

Even as the minutes and hours steadily passed, the crowd didn’t thin one bit, and that meant someone had to make a run for more drinks and ice. Renner, who had shown up fashionably late, volunteered to head back out. Y/N offered to help as well, which had Jeremy all excited, and set Chris’s teeth on edge. Luckily, he was saved from having to quash the idea of Y/N leaving when Sebastian came over, announced her friend had arrived, and asked her to go save the man because he looked very, very uncomfortable among so many strangers.

“Jesus, he looks like he’s about to faint,” Y/N muttered beneath her breath. “I’ll go rescue the idiot.”

Chris didn’t miss the way Renner’s gaze followed Y/N’s retreating form, but he seemed to snap out of it rather quickly, and asked who was going to go with him. The matter was settled when Don, Karen, Paul, and Brie said they’d join. Chris politely escorted them out to complete the errand, and when he returned to the backyard, Downey threw an arm around his neck, and patted his chest.

“Your eyes are looking a little green,” he quipped. “You okay?”

“You going to keep this shit up?” Chris shot back warningly.

Robert’s face bled innocence and he crossed his heart, “I see nothing and I know nothing.”

He knew Downey wasn’t going to let it go; they’d gotten close over the last decade, and he could just tell this was not a subject he was willing to drop. What did surprise Chris, however, was how his expression suddenly became soft, and extremely sincere.

“A good woman – no, a _great_ woman – is a friend, partner, and lover, all wrapped up in one. If you treat her right, she’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you,” he said with both wisdom and authority. “And with a _great_ woman, someone like Y/N, you only get _one_ chance. So, _don’t_ fuck it up.”

“That was quite romantic until the very last line, but overall, top notch.”

Chris turned around, and the sight of Hayley grinning up at him, bottle of wine in hand, made him smile broadly. After accepting the gift, he hugged her tight, and told her he was glad she made it.

“Well, I had to see what the fuss was about,” she sighed as she glanced around. “Now, I’m here, and I don’t give a fig about the house. I do want to hear more about this woman Robert was waxing poetic about, though. Can I meet her?”

“Oh, I’m _outta_ here,” Robert laughed, hotfooting it in retreat.

Chris put an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the others, “How about a drink and a catch up before you start in on me, yeah?”

Before Hayley could make any word of protest, there were shouts of her name, and she was pulled into a group hug of at least ten people. He left her to it, and not long after, he was called from the house by Brie to help bring in the haul from the store.

Another hour passed before Chris finally stopped fretting enough to realize everyone was content and could damn well take care of themselves. That was when Hayley approached him, plate in one hand and beer in the other, and told him to sit down and eat. Of course, like the sharp-witted and cunning woman she was, she waited until his mouth was full to point a subtle finger toward the pool.

“Her,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “She’s the one.”

Chris snuck a glance and saw Y/N sitting on the ground by the pool. Dodger had draped himself over her lap and seemed content to stay there awhile. Quin sat on the opposite side, both feet in the water, and was gesturing wildly with his hands. Whatever he said made Y/N smack him hard on the shoulder, throw her head back, and laugh.

He took a long pull of his beer before finally nodding, “It’s new, complicated, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I wasn’t --I didn’t plan on… Anyway…”

Hayley smiled and rested her chin in her hand, “She’s stunning, Chris, truly. I only met her briefly, but I can see she makes you very happy, and in the end, that’s all that matters.”

Chris grinned, ducked his head, and peeked over the frames of his sunglasses. Y/N was still by the pool, face upturned to the sun, and was mouthing the words to the song playing over the speakers. Swaying slightly and smiling softly, Y/N looked every bit a fantasy -- one he could have never dreamed up on his own, not even in a million years.

Much to Dodger’s protest, Quin grabbed her hands, and pulled himself and her to their feet. He gave her a twirl before leading her into a very safe, respectable dance, and Chris wasn’t at all green-eyed because he was her best friend -- who also just so happened to be gay and in love with his boss. He wasn’t even bothered when Sebastian cut in, even if their dancing was a bit more flirtatious, because Seb was one of _his_ best friends, and wouldn’t dream of doing anything improper.

It was all just completely fine until Renner began to saunter over, and that was definitely _not_ okay. Chris was halfway out of his chair when Downey, like the damn hero he was, deftly walked right alongside, shot his hand out lighting fast, and sent Jeremy flying into the pool.

“That was for you, kid!” Robert shouted as he flexed his arm and accepted the tongs again from Mackie.

“Well, someone is clearly on your side,” Hayley remarked with a little giggle.

Jeremy came up spluttering and Chris made a mental note to send dear, dear Downey a gift. Once he finished both his food and his beer, he excused himself, got up, and headed inside to use the restroom. Chris was just stepping out when he heard muffled sounds from one of the guest rooms, and after a moment of listening hard, he recognized Y/N’s voice.

Though he knew every well he shouldn’t eavesdrop, he found himself leaning in, and pressing his ear against the door. Chris overheard Y/N tell whoever she was speaking to that she’d sent the receipt, and it must be a shipping delay. A brief pause before a scoff, and her insisting she didn’t know what the other person on the end of the line was talking about. Another break and then, her voice took on a tone he’d never heard before.

Y/N said, _“that’s not true,”_ but the manner in which she said it came across as more terrified than assertive. The rest of it came out in clips – something about her job, another protest of innocence, followed by her saying she, _“wasn’t going to do that.”_ He knew the conversation ended when he heard a thud and a smothered cry.

Chris didn’t bother knocking – he just opened the door, and what he found made his heart nearly seize in his chest. The noise he’d heard had been the sound of her purse thrown against the wall, which had spilled open, the contents of which was now splayed on the bed. Y/N was standing near the window, face buried in a pillow, and was letting out screams so gut-wrenching, it immediately made a lump rise to his throat.

Knowing Y/N wouldn’t want to be seen or heard in such a state, Chris shut the door, crossed the room, and placed a tentative hand on her back. It didn’t alarm him when she flinched away, but the look in her eyes when she lifted her face from the pillow did, and he was rendered speechless when everything warm and familiar in her eyes became distant and cold.

“He _saw_ these,” she seethed.

Clarification was given in the form of her phone being shoved into his hand. On the screen, a popular gossip website was open, and there was a photo of Y/N walking up to his house; the time and date stamp showed it had been taken mere hours ago.

That wasn’t the only photo – there were snaps of them at the Mexican restaurant, and with no context, her taking pictures of him with fans, and his arm around her in the booth, made it appear as if they were dating. Another from when they’d gotten back from the motorcycle ride, blurry and dark, but both their profiles visible; one from the first visit at _The Dalliance_ , which captured the moment he’d thanked her and she’d smiled. Each of the photos was accompanied by speculative captions and paragraphs of intrigue and misinformation. 

Chris sighed and ran a hand over his chin, “I’m so--”

“Stop,” Y/N barked as she leaned over to gather her things off the bed. “Just don’t.”

“It’s the paparazzi,” he insisted. “It’s what they do.”

She shoved her things in her purse and snatched the phone from his hand, “Yeah, I know all about what they do, Chris, and guess what? I get to pay for this, too. Now that I’m apparently fucking a movie star, the videos are worth more, and I can afford to send more money every month!”

Though the situation they were in was neither of their faults, Chris couldn’t help but feel guilty. While he didn’t give a damn about the photos, he did care about her, and he wanted to make it right.

“Please, let me help.”

“I don’t want your help!” she asseverated as she snatched up her keys and headed for the door.

“Could you, please, just – fuck, Y/N, wait!”

The front door was wrenched open and smacked hard against the wall. Chris saw her put on her sunglasses and cover the bottom half of her face with her sweater before she ran down the driveway and out into the street. From his vantage point, Chris could see camera lenses, and he didn’t care; he went after her anyway, but it was too late.

She was gone.


	16. Chapter 15: Enough

**Chapter 15: Enough**

It had been two months since the photos appeared online.

Weeks of celebrity gossip magazines, blogs, and television shows speculating who Y/N was, where she was from, and whether or not Chris was officially off the market. Days of remerging photos from her past, questions about her present, and people just _dying_ to know when Captain America would break everyone’s hearts, and admit he was no longer single.

Hours of keeping the curtains closed at her apartment. Always taking the back entrance at work. Being compared to every, single woman Chris had ever looked at. Endlessly scrutinized for the way she made her living, what she did or didn’t wear, and for not smiling every time a camera was shoved in her face.

Quin’s sympathy and her co-workers barely-concealed whispers and accusations. Margaret’s disappointment, and Logan’s indecision over whether or not to fire her, because even though he was a hypocrite, she was in breach of contract, and he didn’t appreciate all the nonsense this had caused…

It was all leading up to an inevitably bad ending, and Y/N was just waiting for the axe to fall.

Chris had been texting and calling. Somehow, he got her address, and sent her a hand-written letter she hadn’t managed to get all the way through yet because it was just too much to take. The announcements of his upcoming films, new television series, and his appearance at a popular Convention helped take some of the heat off her; by the end of June, with no admission or sign of them together, the paparazzi gave up, and moved on.

During all that time, the only thing that prevented Y/N from throwing in the towel was her unwillingness to let Bret win. She was beaten and bruised, but she would be damned if she let him break her.

“Are you listening to me, Y/L/N?”

Y/N snapped to attention and nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“So, tell me – what do you think?” Margaret prompted impatiently.

“It’s more than fair and it’s the right thing to do.”

Apparently, that was the proper response, because Margaret dismissed them. Quin asked if he could use the room to speak privately with Y/N for a moment, and permission was granted. Once everyone was out, and it was just the two of them behind closed doors, Quin crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled her with a serious stare.

“I am worried about you.”

For a moment, she considered spilling her guts, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Her situation couldn’t be helped before, and now, it was dire. Y/N was late on rent and living off her nearly maxed out credit cards. She’d sold her car, was juggling two, full-time security jobs, and babysat for extra cash.

Quin didn’t have a clue just how bad it was and she wanted to keep it that way.

“Y/N, please, you’re my best friend. I just--”

“I’m fine, Quin,” she interjected.

“Are we _really_ not going to talk about this?” he demanded angrily. “You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. I know you, Y/N, and I know when something is wrong.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed, “Look, we can talk about it later, okay? Right now, we need to get to work.”

Taking his silence as a relent, Y/N headed for the door, but when he announced he was quitting _The Dalliance_ and moving in with Logan, she paused. He followed up the proclamation by saying he was in love, no longer wanted to hide it, and had taken a job closer to what would soon be his new home. Quin insisted it didn’t mean they wouldn’t see each other, but it wouldn’t be as often as before, and he didn’t want her to think he was abandoning her.

“I’m happy for you, Quin.”

“Yeah?”

To make sure he knew she was being genuine, Y/N moved back toward him; once he was within reach, she gave him a hug, and congratulated him again.

“It’s not a goodbye,” he murmured. “It’s more of a see you later.”

Overcome by the sudden need to hang on to him for just a bit longer, she tightened her hold, and blinked back the tears that had formed in her eyes. He told her he was still staying with the security firm and planned on being both moved in and transferred by the end of July. When Quin asked if she wanted to have dinner and celebrate, she discreetly wiped her eyes, and released him.

“You pick the place,” she replied. “Whatever you want, my treat.”

They agreed on the usual spot, exchanged customary fist bumps, and headed to work. Though the hours flew by and Y/N was more than occupied, she couldn’t stop thinking about Quin’s impending departure, and how much things were going to change.

After work, Quin drove them to the restaurant, and they caroused over their favorite grub and a pitcher of margaritas. They reminisced over their first days on the job, when they became partners, and all the crazy shit they’d seen and experienced. Deep down, Y/N knew he would always be there for her, but it was a loss that made her heart heavy.

Y/N had just enough cash to cover the food and the tip, and when Quin parked at the curb in front of her building, he offered to hang out. Though she really didn’t want to be alone, Y/N knew he had someone to get home to, and waved him off. When she made it up to her apartment, she was greeted by a pile of mail, as well as an eviction notice.

“Just perfect,” Y/N muttered, pulling it down and shoving it into her pocket. “Just fucking perfect.”

One inside, she locked up, and headed for the bathroom. After a long cry in the shower, she got out, pulled on pajamas, and plopped down on the couch. Though she wasn’t particularly attached to the apartment, it was her home, and the thought of being removed from it made her weepy all over again. Y/N wasn’t sure how she’d manage to pay both the rent and the late fees that accompanied it, and found Quin’s text to be a welcomed, perfectly timed distraction.

_Do you need anything for your place? I have stuff I’m not taking and you get first dibs. -Q_

Eyes again filled with tears, Y/N texted back, and told him she didn’t need anything. She didn’t tell him she was probably not going to have a place to live for much longer, and also didn’t mention she was lucky the lights and her phone were still fucking on…

When a knock sounded and interrupted her internal woes, she got up, and went to answer. Thinking it was one of the neighbors coming to ask if she could babysit, Y/N didn’t look to see who it was, but when she opened the door, she really, really wished she’d looked first.

“Can I come in?”

Y/N swiped at her face with the back of her hand and held the door wide, “Sure.”

The first thing that rocked her senses was the smell of his cologne, followed by his polite _‘thank you”_ when he stepped over the threshold. As he took a slow turn around the room, it was his unblemished black shoes, perfectly tailored trousers, and fitted, navy blue sweater that caught drew her gaze. Same, trimmed beard, but much longer hair, which was struggling to stay beneath the ballcap. Bright blue eyes that were easily discernable, even in the dimly lit space, and the way his lips parted, and then pressed into a hard line, and then, parted again…

Yeah, she was in trouble.

“You weren’t returning my texts,” he stated. “Or my calls.”

She shut the door and flipped the lock, “I’ve been busy.”

Chris snorted and pulled off his hat, “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m avoiding everyone.”

“Everyone except Quin, right? Because he’s the only person in your life who cares about you? The only person you can trust anymore?”

Y/N took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Did you come here to argue?”

There was a muttered, “no,” but on the heels of it came a scoff, and a lot of pacing. A moment later, he stopped, tossed his hat onto the couch, and put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, you know what? I did come here to argue,” he confessed hotly. “Because this – whatever the fuck this is – isn’t okay. I told you I didn’t care. I told you I wanted you. And what did you do? You cut and fucking run at the first sign of trouble.”

She opened her mouth to interject that he wasn’t being fair, but Chris barred his teeth, and raised a warning finger. The growl of, _“I’m not fucking finished,”_ made her cross her arms over her chest, and clamp her mouth shut.

“I don’t give a fuck who he is – he isn’t untouchable. You think _he’s_ punishing _you_? You’re punishing yourself for falling in love with a man who turned out to be a psychopath, and your chosen penance is to what? Push people away? Just keep paying him? I told you I would help you, but your _fucking_ pride…”

It truly was a tirade for the ages, and the longer he went on, the faster Y/N’s pulse raced. She’d seen him keyed up a few times, but never quite like this. This was Chris in rare form – unleashed, unapologetic, and unforgiving. He made it clear he was not going to let her go on this way. Whatever her feelings on the matter, he was involved now; he was committed, he was going to fight for her, and he didn’t care what it took or what it cost.

Chris had already gone to lawyer, who ensured by the time he was finished, Bret would not only give up every, single tape, but also be held to account. While revenge porn was considered disorderly conduct and a misdemeanor in the state of California, the extortion carried with it a possible four-year sentence and a hefty fine, and she could also sue him for any number of reasons if she wanted to. The council he hired was not only a personal friend of his family, but also had never lost a case, and happened to know a judge no rich, dickhead with an ego ever wanted to be brought in front of.

When he finally paused long enough to take a breath, Y/N called out his name, but he was too worked up to hear her, and continued on stomping back and forth across her living room.

“And if that fails,” he snarled, clenching his fists. “I’ll find him and--”

“Chris -- enough!”

“I’m honestly kind of torn. Do I beat the shit out of him first? Or do I just--”

Y/N stepped into his path, when he turned to pace the other way, she grabbed the sleeve of his sweater, and brought him to a halt. She used her own mouth to silence his, and though Chris was momentarily stunned, he kissed her back. Y/N wound her arms around his shoulders, held him to her with a combination of lips and hands, and used her own body to move him backward toward the bedroom.

As soon as they were close enough to the mattress, Y/N reached for the hem of his sweater, and pushed it up over his chest. Chris yanked it off the rest of the way and as soon as it was discarded, she pulled off her own shirt, and pressed him down onto the mattress. Shoes, socks, belt, trousers – it all had to go, and so, it went, forgotten in heaps on the floor.

She crawled over him, buried her fingers in his hair, and tugged, “Are you finished talking now?”

He groaned and nodded frantically, “Yes.”

“Good,” Y/N quipped as she slid a hand down his chest and reached for him. “Now, let’s give _my_ neighbors something to talk about.”


	17. Chapter 16: Feel You

**Chapter 16: Feel You**

Kisses to his mouth and neck that left him breathless. Nips on his shoulders, pecs, and abs that made him writhe. Hands that seemed to be everywhere -- gentle and firm and possessive all at once. Eyes that looked right into his, and for once, did not shy away. A tongue that traced patterns across his flesh and made his entire body break out in goosebumps.

Y/N had only just begun exploring, and within seconds, he was on edge.

Lips parted, and then, wrapped around him. Drawing him in slowly, then, taking him down, down, down before bringing him up again, and repeating it until his breath was sawing in and out of his throat, and he was twisting the threadbare sheets in his hands. He was barely hanging on when she cupped him, and the combination of her mouth and hands punched the air right out of his lungs.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “D-don’t make me – n-not yet.”

She released him only long enough to say, _“don’t tell me what to do,”_ before engulfing him again. Chris threw his head back and let out a laundry list of expletives; when he looked down again, there was a gleam in Y/N’s eye that said she had him right where she wanted him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Then, she hummed.

And he couldn’t take it anymore.

Chis threaded his fingers through her hair and tugged just enough to get her attention, “Come ‘ere.”

As soon as Y/N lifted her head, he grabbed her by the upper arms, and dragged her upward. He smothered her squeak of surprise by lifting his head and bringing their mouths together. Chris could feel her smile and the vibration of her throaty, knowing laugh, and responded to her sass by trailing his lips down her throat and sinking his teeth into the side of her neck.

The pillow shifted a bit when Y/N planted her hands on either side of his head; the drag of her nails across his scalp and her pulse quickening under his tongue meant Chris had found just one of the many pleasure spots he intended to discover.

Using the tips of his fingers, he traced a line down her spine, and felt the way her body curved into his touch. He continued over her shoulders, down her arms, to the sides of her breasts, and enjoyed the feel of her shivering beneath his palms.

Chris moved his lips back up to hers, drew her tongue into his mouth, and carefully used the pads of his thumbs to caress her breasts. Y/N’s every, breathy moan let him know he was on the right track, and when his eventually allowed his touch to wander to the apex of her thighs, she gasped, and pressed her forehead to his.

“Are you trying to torture me?” she breathed.

He grinned and moved her onto her back, “Haven’t even gotten started yet.” 

Believing turnabout was more than fair play, Chris traveled the expanse of her body, reveling in her responsiveness and the unabashed way she let him know what she enjoyed via the equally angelic and sinful sounds that filled the air. If it felt good, she quietly moaned; if it felt better than good, she would dig her teeth into her lower lip. And if it felt amazing?

“Chris… _Chris_ …”

He liked it when she said his name like that, so, he made sure to make her say it again and again and again until she was pleading.

“Show me,” he rasped, dragging his teeth over her nipple and nudging her thighs wider. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

It was erotic to watch the passion build on her face as she worked herself against his hand; hips grinding and rolling, before guiding his fingers inside, and crying out in relief. Chris had always been a quick study, and it didn’t take long before she let him take over. Hooded gaze fixated on her, he drew it out, keeping her right up at the edge until she dug her nails into his forearm and growled in a way that sounded like a warning.

“There you are,” he chuckled.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, but before she could respond, Chris pressed the pad of his thumb to her clit, and stole the words away. He was hot, hard, and more than ready, and when she demanded, “ _Inside me. Now,”_ he was all too happy to comply. Y/N handed him a condom from the drawer of her nightstand, and his hands were trembling as he lay down next to her and tore the package open. She rose to her knees, and without saying a word, took the rubber, and rolled it down onto him.

Fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, he watched as Y/N sank down onto him, and when he was buried to the hilt, she stilled, and stuttered out his name. Chris let her take complete control, alternating between holding her hips and running his hands over every inch of her heated skin. Her spine bowed as her orgasm drew nearer, and he didn’t make her fight for it. He gave her clit the attention it deserved, shoved her hard over the edge, and followed right along after her.

The intensity of both the build up and release left Chris floating somewhere outside of his body, and it wasn’t until Y/N ran her hands over his chest and asked if he was okay that he finally came back to himself. He must’ve nodded rather dumbly because she laughed, leaned down, and brushed her lips across his forehead.

Chris didn’t protest when she told him not to move, but he did groan rather pitifully at the loss of her warmth around him. Getting out of the bed to clean up was a must, and after he finished, he returned to her bedroom to find her getting dressed.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

She sighed and pulled on a t-shirt, “If I lay here and cuddle with you, I’ll want to have sex again.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It is when there aren’t any more condoms and you have zero food in the house.”

Chris laughed and shook his head, “I guess neither of us exactly planned for this to happen, did we?”

“Planned? No,” Y/N replied. “Hoped? Yes.”

While she put on jeans, Chris rooted around for his boxers, and found them more than halfway under the bed. A small, black case caught his eye, and when he asked her about it, she didn’t hesitate.

“It’s my service weapon – well, it would’ve been. My dad got it for me. Surprised me with it at graduation. Said he had to ask for a list to make sure it didn’t violate policies for a firearm.”

The tone in her voice was a combination of wistful and sad. Knowing it was a sensitive subject, and not wanting to ruin the mood, Chris left it alone, and put on his boxers. He followed her out to the living room, where she tugged on a pair of boots, and grabbed her keys. There was a 24-hour pharmacy around the corner, and after promising to return shortly, she stood on tip-toe, and kissed him.

“Ah, ah, I don’t think so,” Chris protested when she pulled away too soon.

The grin she sported when he cupped her face was like sunshine; he’d meant for the kiss to be a proper one, but it became indecent rather quickly. Somehow, his hands had a mind of their own, and it wasn’t until he grabbed her ass that she tore her mouth away and groaned.

“Just – ten minutes,” Y/N promised. 

When Chris pouted, she laughed, and playfully pushed his face away with her hand before heading out the door. With nothing to do but wait for her return, he took a look around her apartment, and after a few minutes, found himself frowning.

He thought she’d been joking when she said there wasn’t any food in the house, but a quick peek at both the fridge and cabinets showed it wasn’t really that much of an exaggeration. The living room was nearly just as sparse – just a couch, coffee table, and strangely empty entertainment stand. Medicine cabinet was also straightforward, housing deodorant, toothpaste, a box of bandages, and some headache reliever. The bedroom was really the only place that showed any sign of who she was, but even there it was limited to black uniforms, a small amount of street clothes, and worn bedding.

The nightstand tucked in the corner showed a top drawer full of miscellaneous items; loose change, chap stick, hair ties, a lighter, a half-empty pack of cigarettes, an extra phone charger, and a worn-out pair of what were clearly motorcycle gloves. The second was just neatly folded socks, bras, and underwear.

The third was where he found Y/N, tucked away beneath a blue towel, and wrapped in tissue paper.

An FBI-issued ID, but no shield. Death certificates for her parents and photos of her with them that spanned from childhood to academy graduation. One of her smoking and saluting the camera with a liter of vodka. Photobooth strips of her and Quin, middle fingers flying, and mouths parted with laughter. A black jewelry box with a necklace; a silver charm in the shape of a target, and the note inside indicating it had been a gift from someone who didn’t sign their name, but remarked she’d earned it.

Stacked neatly to one side was a pile that revealed itself to be bills, with hastily written notes of when things were paid, when they were late, or when they were ignored entirely. Shut off notices for both phone and lights. Binder-clipped receipts, all from the same post office, showing regular, monthly visits that spanned years. One piece of paper stuck out because it was crumpled, and when Chris realized what he was reading, he sighed and ran a hand over his mouth.

Y/N wasn’t just struggling – she was broke and about to lose her home.

People who said money didn’t solve everything were clearly people who never knew what it meant not to have it, and though his first instinct was to help, Chris knew she wouldn’t let him. It was a glance behind the curtain that he had stolen, rather than been given – a clear invasion of her privacy.

And it wasn’t just pride -- it was a deep, profound shame, all of which she kept hidden, secreted away in the bottom drawer.

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat, he was careful to put things back exactly as he’d found them, and shut it away just in time.

“I’m baaaack!” she sang, her voice full if merriment and mischief.

When Y/N appeared in the doorway, he got up, took the bag from her hand, and tossed it onto the bed. Chris didn’t kiss her – he simply pulled her into his arms, and hugged her tight. He held her for so long, she eventually laughed, and looked up at him quizzically.

“You okay?”

For the first, and what he vowed to be the _only_ time, Chris looked right into her eyes, lied, and said everything was just fine.


	18. Chapter 17: Burden of Proof

**Chapter 17: Burden of Proof**

Y/N tapped her fingers against her thigh as the elevator ascended, and when the doors parted, she blinked rapidly, and let out a scoff.

“Nope,” she huffed, backing up and shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

Quin told her to take a deep breath, and when she did, she got a lungful of flowers because there were bouquets of them _everywhere_. A more than gentle nudge to the middle of her back and a murmur of, _“it’ll be fine,”_ was what got her out of the elevator.

There were four named partners on the wall beyond on the frosted, glass door, and a lot of very fast-paced walking and talking. The lobby had several plush sofas to sit on, each accompanied by a coffee table featuring bottles of water, a basket of assorted snacks, and industrial-sized boxes of tissues.

The navy blue and white color pallet was both clean and contemporary, and the art on the walls was just as lovely. The front desk housed three receptionists, with little partitions between them, and business cards set up in prim rows. Y/N had been instructed to give her name at the desk and say she was there to see Vic; after a clipped call announcing her arrival, she was instructed to step back, but not to sit.

The blatantly curious head-to-toe look she received made her even more nervous, but she wasn’t given much time to think about it. An Executive Assistant by the name of Yvonne appeared just seconds later; her warm greeting was a stark contrast to the receptionist’s, but it did nothing to help quell the fluttering in her stomach.

“Vic will see you momentarily,” Yvonne informed them as she motioned for them to follow her down the hall. “They partners are just wrapping up a conference call. Would either of you like anything while you wait? Coffee, tea, water?”

Y/N sat down where instructed and wrung her hands in her lap, “No, thank you.”

Quin also declined and once they were left alone, she looked around the office, and swallowed hard.

Lining one wall was a series of floating shelves, adorned with awards in all sorts of shapes and sizes. The Doctor of Juridical Science degree hung next to the desk, along with a lot of other certificates featuring lofty titles. A small conference table surrounded by four, leather chairs was in the corner, with a Lady Justice sculpture featured in the center. The opposite wall held floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcases that housed well utilized volumes with cracked and frayed spines. An L-shaped wooden desk was positioned in front of the window, with a high back chair pushed all the way in, and an assortment of Montblanc pens lined up neatly on the surface.

“What am I doing?” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“ _Stop_ ,” Quin insisted, placing a hand on her bouncing knee. “Just relax, would you?”

“I am so sorry I kept you waiting.”

Y/N looked up from her lap and blanched. When Chris informed her the lawyer she would be meeting was named Vic Donahue, she thought Vic had been short for Victor.

Clearly, she had been mistaken.

Everything about the woman’s appearance was straight out of a magazine. Stylishly coiffed hair and flawless makeup. Black Louboutin’s, easily recognized by the bright, red bottoms. They complimented the perfectly tailored red dress that was definitely not from the rack. Matching earrings, necklace, and bracelet, all adorned with square-cut diamonds that didn’t dare look ostentatious.

“I’m Victoria Donahue, but I insist you call me Vic,” she introduced as she deposited a briefcase on the desk. “Just two minutes and I promise, I’ll have my act together.

Internally, Y/N felt very, very intimidated and completely underdressed.

Externally, she forced herself to sit up straight and stop fidgeting.

“Now, you must be Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked as she turned with an outstretched hand.

“Yes,” Y/N replied, standing and accepting the firm handshake. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

After a brief introduction with Quin and another inquiry as to whether or not they wanted refreshments, Vic retrieved a tablet from her brief case, and invited them to sit at the table.

“So, I want you to start from the beginning,” she said as she slipped on a pair of glasses and brought the tablet’s screen to life. “I’m going to take notes, but I don’t want you to pay any attention to what I do or don’t write down. What you say in this, room stays in this room, and you are protected by attorney client privilege. Understood?”

Y/N nodded in agreement, took a deep breath, and told the woman everything. There were questions peppered in here and there, but for the most part, Vic was silent. After a rundown of everything and answering follow-up questions, she removed her glasses, closed the tablet, and set it on the table.

“I’m going to begin by saying I’m very sorry for what you’ve gone through. I cannot imagine the pain and trauma that this has caused.”

“But?” Y/N prompted after a long pause.

“There’s the burden of proof,” Vic replied with a slight frown. “I understand you kept the receipts, but you paid cash, and unless he deposited matching funds with the same consistency, extortion will be hard to prove.”

“What about the voicemails and texts?” Quin wondered.

She sat forward, “What voicemails and texts?”

“He’d text sometimes after I sent him a receipt,” Y/N stated lamely. “And he’d leave a message if I didn’t answer when he called.”

“Did you keep them all?”

As soon as she nodded in the affirmative, Vic asked her to show her the texts, and play her the messages. It was a wholly embarrassing and skin-crawling thing to have to do, but Y/N did it, and found her hands shaking at the sight of Vic’s frown getting deeper and deeper. Just when Y/N thought she’d did all the show and tell for nothing, Vic suddenly smirked, and told her to replay the last one.

_“You pay what I tell you to pay, when I tell you to pay it, or everyone is going to know just exactly what a whore you were for me. And don’t even think about getting any bright ideas about going to the cops now that you’re spreading your legs for him. Bitch, I’m Bret Kensington – nobody would ever believe you.”_

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” she announced as she stood and went to the door. “Yvonne, could you please, come in here for a moment?”

Y/N swiped away the tears from beneath her eyes and felt Quin squeeze her hand beneath the table. A few moments later, Yvonne stepped in with two bottles of water, and politely asked to see her phone. When she asked why, Vic handed Yvonne her tablet, and sat back down.

“Yvonne is going to copy the voicemails and text messages onto our secured server,” she explained. “Once the process is complete, I will show you my tablet, and you can confirm for yourself nothing else on your phone was copied or viewed. Do we have your permission?”

She looked to Quin, who squeezed her hand again, and nodded encouragingly. It only took a few minutes, and after only seeing the messages and texts from Bret on the tablet, she stowed her phone away. As soon as Yvonne left the room, Vic made a few swipes on the screen, and set it on the table in front of her.

“This is a standard contract for my services. If you choose to move forward, you will need to sign it,” she explained. “Once you’ve signed, we will schedule another meeting, and start discussing strategy. Now, if you wake up tomorrow, and decide you don’t want to do this, that is fine. You are in complete control when it comes to this matter.”

It took quite some time to read through everything, which seemed all well and good, but the fees displayed were exorbitant. Her eyes were swimming with tears again when Quin handed her a tissue, cracked the seal on the water bottle, and told her to drink. As she sipped, mopped her face, and tried not to have a complete breakdown, Vic told her she didn’t have to make any decisions yet. She expressed the desire to make her feel comfortable, to help, and see she got justice.

“I want to sign this,” Y/N insisted. “Believe me, I want to…”

Quin placed a hand on her back, “What is it?”

She looked at the tablet, up at him, and back down again, “I can’t afford this. I can’t--”

Vic held up her hand, “You’re not being billed for this, Y/N.”

“I can’t let Chris pay for it, either!” she cried, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Y/N, I don’t think you understand,” Vic replied patiently. “You’re not paying for this and neither is Chris. I’m taking on your case pro bono.”

“ _Why_ would you do that?”

“Because I pick and choose my battles, and I’ve chosen this one,” she explained. “And Chris has not only referred a lot of high-profile clients to this firm, but he’s also a friend. It’s the least I can do, and I would really, _really_ like to kick this prick’s ass if you’ll let me.”

The sound Y/N let out was a mixture of a laugh and a sob, and after taking some time to calm down, she scrubbed her hands over her face, and signed. With the paperwork out of the way and the next meeting set, they shook hands again, and Vic saw them out to the elevators.

There was a moment of silence while they waited for the elevator to arrive, but they hadn’t been waiting long before Quin asked how Vic had become a friend of Chris’s family. Y/N knew the question was deceptively benign, and hoped her new lawyer wouldn’t suddenly decide to dump her because of Quin’s impertinence. Still, regardless of it being inappropriate, Vic was gracious, and explained early on in her career, she did contract negotiation work in Boston for The Concord Youth Theatre, where Chris’s mother, Lisa, was a director.

“I guess she must’ve liked me enough to tell Chris about me,” she finished.

When Quin asked if Lisa tried to set them up on a date, Y/N smacked his arm, and begged Vic to ignore her grossly inapt friend.

“What?” Quin asked with feigned innocence. “I’m just curious.”

“I was not and never will be romantically involved with Chris,” she replied with a light laugh. “I was engaged at the time, and now, I’m married, and madly in love with my husband.”

The elevator signaled its arrival just in time, and after all but shoving Quin inside, Y/N shook Vic’s hand and thanked her again.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N, even under the circumstances,” Vic said quietly.

Y/N cleared her throat, “What do you think my chances are of winning this?”

“With me in your corner? I’d say the odds are more than stacked in your favor.”

Hearing the absolute conviction in Vic’s voice made her dare to hope, and once Y/N and Quin were in the car and headed back, she pulled her phone from her pocket, and texted Chris the good news.

_I knew Vic could help. You headed home? -C_

_Yes. Going to try to get a nap in before work. -Y/N_

_Wanna come over and play instead? -C_

The flirtatious message had been followed up by a blurry shot of him in bed, blanket pulled up over his chin, with only his nose and comically wide, bright-blue eyes visible. For first time all day, Y/N genuinely laughed, and though the offer was tempting, she declined, citing she didn’t want a repeat of the aftermath that occurred the last time she visited.

_I can meet you at your place? -C_

It was foolish and she would get absolutely no sleep, and yet, Y/N agreed. He replied by saying he would be at her place shortly, and this time, he’d _“plan ahead.”_

Once again, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh.


	19. Chapter 18: Fight On

**Chapter 18: Fight On**

Angry Tweets, slip-and-slides, and filming – that was how Chris intended to spend the first two weeks of July. Right after the successful meeting with the lawyer, but before he jetted off, he spent more time with Y/N.

In Y/N’s bed and in her arms, he found peace in both moments of carnality, and in times of sleep-deprived conversation. Chris thought it was fun to sneak Dodger in so he could stay over, and found himself warmed every time Y/N invited the furball onto the couch or into the bed with them. The smell of her shampoo wafting through the apartment on the tendrils of brewing coffee and shower steam became his new alarm clock, and he was more than okay with it.

Being held fiercely and tenderly, no matter what, and not being laughed at if he got weepy. Arguing over who actually won that round of Scrabble, and making up right on top of the flipped board and scattered tiles afterward. A tickle in his throat that was addressed with too many blankets and a lot of hot, homemade “cure all” soup that Chris may or may not have admitted actually helped.

Thorough discussions about politics, religion, the toilet seat, and Dodger’s level of cuteness. Flares of white-hot anger at the sight of a fresh bruise left by a handsy club member, and a lot of chagrin when she pointed out just how crazy his _sober_ fans could get. After the follow-up meeting with Vic, Y/N had fallen into his arms, and cried; he let her get it out and the love they made afterward had shaken them both. She saw him through a particularly nasty panic attack, took the time to understand how he’d been triggered, and also learned how to help him cope in the event it ever happened again.

Watching her clean her weapon with precision and care, and having no shame in admitting it was both erotic and slightly intimidating. Picking her up from work in an SUV with black tinted windows, driving out to the coast, and finding a discreet spot to satiate their passion. Y/N had called him a _wanton scoundrel_ before she took him into her mouth and made his eyes roll back. In the backseat, with the ocean thundering louder than his heart, they found creative positions and a multitude of ways to get each other off. On the way home, they played a rather dirty round of twenty questions, and he learned her patience with traffic far exceeded his own.

It was like measuring twice and cutting once; Chris was getting it right this time. They stole the hours and minutes they had together, and where there were none to steal, they made the time. Whatever it was they had, whatever it was that was growing between them -- it just _worked._

And while it got even better and they got even closer, it also got real, and it got hard.

Vic had done the paperwork and navigated the shark-infested waters; since extortion was a felony crime, they decided to pursue a criminal case. The police had been bypassed and Vic went straight to the grand jury and judge. There was enough evidence for Bret to be brought up on charges, but because of his clean record, he was released on bail pending trial. Deemed a flight risk, he was forced to wear an ankle monitor, and there was a restraining order in place; if he violated the terms of the arrangement, or didn’t show up for court, he was going to jail.

This was a huge win and meant all payments to Bret stopped. Though Y/N’s fears of exposure increased, Chris could tell she was relieved, but was also forever waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’s finally come clean on her own about her financial situation, and he respected Y/N’s decision when she said she didn’t want him to help. Not paying her ex meant she was able to get her head above water again, and by the end of the month, the eviction notice was rescinded, and the back bills were paid. Chris knew it wasn’t about him, but he wanted more for her, and her just being able to get by just wasn’t good enough – not by half – but it was a start. 

August arrived with news that was both really good and absolutely terrible. Vic had enough to proceed to trial without Y/N having to testify, but the defense attorney was fighting it. They drowned the firm in pointless paperwork and utilized every delay tactic in their arsenal.

When that battle was lost, they tried to discredit the voicemails, and Vic fought back having him compelled to repeat verbatim what he’d said in the message, and having it expertly analyzed and compared. It should have been game, set, match, but the phone records were also called into question. Bret had never changed his number, which was proven via the records already submitted into evidence, but again, it was a stall. Though cash was typically impossible to trace, Bret had actually had been stupid enough to make correlating deposits within days of the money arriving at his doorstep.

At first, Bret’s friends, parents, and sister had shown up in support, but one-by-one, they dropped like flies. That was when the press got interested in Y/N and what they simultaneously called her _‘brave fight’_ and _‘personal vendetta.’_ They hounded her incessantly and because of their previously established connection, the paparazzi were at it again, and camping out at her apartment and at his house.

It put a strain on their relationship, but it didn’t break them. Chris wanted her to stay with him, where there was at least privacy, but that would have made it worse. The solution came from Quin, who snuck her into his old apartment, and gave her a place to lay low until things died down or the lease was taken over. With Y/N’s whereabouts unknown and conviction on the horizon, they had a reprieve.

Then, Bret decided he wanted to plea bargain.

His lawyer fought for probation and a fine, but Vic held firm, and slapped them with a countersuit for damages. After a week of the judge and jury cooling their heels and the defense trying to avoid conviction, Bret said he would only take his punishment and settle the suit if he was allowed to confront his “accuser” in person.

Chris was scheduled to begin shooting _Infinite_ , and though filming would begin in LA, it would eventually move to the United Kingdom, and possibly even to Rome. He didn’t want to leave Y/N without seeing her get the justice she deserved, and he also didn’t want her to face Bret alone.

That particulars surrounding the matter had been discussed mostly in private between Y/N and Vic, but when he’d popped in for a surprise visit, she’d answered with a smile, a quick kiss, and a motion for him to be quiet. While Chris busied himself in the kitchen with their lunch, he overheard what appeared to be the final conversation over speaker phone.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N,” Vic insisted.

“If I don’t confront him, I’ll regret it.”

“If you want to move forward, I will insist the meeting be private, and not in front of the judge or jury. Now, if you want to make a formal statement at sentencing--”

“No,” Y/N interjected. “I just want this to be over. I want him out of my life.”

Chris listened as they planned, and with the meeting set for the courthouse the following afternoon, Y/N hung up, and resumed her pacing. He could hear the rush of her footsteps moving back and forth across the carpet, but after a few minutes, she entered the kitchen, and let out a heavy sigh. After a quiet hello, Chris felt her wrap her arms around his waist, and rest her forehead in the center of his back.

“You brought lunch?”

“I stopped at the deli on the way and had some sandwiches made,” he answered, giving her arm a squeeze. “I figured you’d skipped breakfast and are probably hangry right about now, right?”

She laughed lowly and poked his ribs, “Don’t act like you know me.” 

Chris grabbed the bag of chips and waved it above his head. They were her favorite, and the resulting gasp and the way she snatched them greedily from his hand made him chuckle. A moment later, the bag was torn open, and the sound of crunching filled the air. 

“I think I know you pretty well,” he remarked as he turned to face her. “And I will take that bag from you if you even _think_ of saying that’s all you’re going to have.”

Y/N pouted and reached in for more, “I’m a grown ass woman. I can eat _all_ the chips if I --”

Years of stunt training and honing his reflexes saw the bag out of her grasp and firmly in his. Her face morphed with surprise, and then she scoffed, and wiped her hands on her jeans.

“So, that’s how you want to play this?” Y/N asked with a smirk.

He arched an eyebrow, “What are you going to do about it?”

She stepped in close, tilted her head, and tapped his nose with the tip of her finger. A brief explanation about how she could start there – just a small punch, nothing too aggressive. Then, palm traversing down, remarking he’d left himself wide open for hits to the throat, and following up the assertion with a soft grasp to show him just how dangerous that particular area was. Heart, solar plexus, ribs, and kidneys were next, and finally, sympathetic frowns geared toward his knees and instep.

“Then, of course, there’s the most sensitive and tender part,” she hummed, hands gliding over his pelvis and moving lower still.

Chris swallowed hard and jutted his chin; his clear refusal to relent made her smile serenely and crank up the temperature. She went on murmuring about how such actions would involve an awful lot of undeserved pain before cupping him through his jeans and applying both pressure and rhythm.

“Or I could just ruin you in other ways,” Y/N whispered as she leaned in, stood on tiptoe, and nipped at his earlobe. “Just positively _wreck_ you.”

He dropped the bag on the counter, seized her wrists, and pinned them behind her back, “Now, what?”

She rolled her hips into his and flicked her tongue over his neck, “I have other weapons at my disposal.”

Between one breath and the next, their mouths met, and it was his hands that were moving. In his pocket for a condom before disappearing between her legs. Then, it was her sweat pants yanked off and denim sagging around his hips. Wrapping up and lifting her up, Y/N in his arms, Chris inside her body, right on the too small counter in Quin’s kitchen next to their forgotten sandwiches.

Down on the floor, his knees pressed into the linoleum, and her legs over his shoulders. Y/N jokingly asking if she could have her chips after and him using his tongue to shut her sassy mouth. Raw, primal, unapologetic sex that promised to leave them both sore, bruised, and more than satisfied.

“You fight fucking _dirty_ ,” he snarled in her ear as he drove his hips and gripped her thighs tight.

Y/N moaned and clawed at his back, “You fucking _like_ it.”

Chris laughed, reached between their bodies, and stroked her clit, “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

As their shared amusement gave ways to cries of passion and release, he couldn’t help but think he more than _liked_ it.

Actually, he fucking _loved_ it.


	20. Chapter 19: Center Mass

**Chapter 19: Center Mass**

Pink-tinged water gurgled down the drain.

The rising steam indicated the water was getting far too hot, and would most likely scald, but it was the only way for Y/N to get the blood off her hands. As she dug the soap into the crevices of her skin, she vaguely recalled the five stages of grief, and how appropriate they were when applied to herself. 

At first, she’d denied it, unwilling to accept reality and circumstances had changed. Then, Y/N moved on to anger, and had remained there far too long. Next came bargaining – little bits at first, and then, bigger ones, until the last vestiges of her soul had been stripped away, and finally revealed raw nerves and a weak backbone. The depression spiral came right along after, pressed in from all directions, and nothing she did filled the hallowed-out cavern where her heart had once resided.

In the here and now, as she looked into a warped mirror with a cracked frame, Y/N had reached acceptance. It hadn’t come easily – in fact, it had been agonizing – but death and rebirth could be like that sometimes.

Not like a phoenix rising from the ashes or a butterfly emerging from a cocoon – no, nothing that remarkable. It was more like a snake shedding its’ skin; all that dead weight just sloughed off and left behind because it was part of the process. Cringe-worthy, but no less vital, because it was essential for survival, and allowed life to go on as it was meant to.

She hadn’t done it on her own; everything she’d been through and everyone who witnessed it, in some way, got her to this point. Quin, with his unyielding loyalty and uncommonly kind spirit. Margaret and the lifeline that had come in the form of a second chance. Even Logan had changed the course of her life just by sending out an invitation. Sebastian, with his smirk, which was always accompanied by, _“Hey, Quantico.”_ Vic, outstretched hand, an act of compassion, and dare she think it, heroism?

And him – _Chris –_ with his too-true blue eyes that were both the burn and the balm. When all Y/N felt was shame, when all she saw was darkness, ugliness, and monsters in every corner, he _saw_ her. He saw her and wanted to see her through this, too. 

Chris was the one who saw Y/N up the steps of the courthouse, through the maze of halls, and to the private conference room where she would confront the very thing that had stalked and haunted her for so long. She drank from the overflowing cup of bravery and conviction he possessed, and went into the room thinking, this time, she was the one in control.

Lawyers out, but cameras recording, Y/N had taken the seat furthest from Bret at the end table, and still, it was too close. If Bret wanted to, he could touch her, and if he did, she knew she’d throw up.

But he didn’t touch her. In fact, he just stared at her for what seemed like an eternity before he sneered and leaned both his elbows and the weight of his shackles on the table.

He asked if she really believed he ever cared for her, let alone loved her. Marveled at her suffering and at his ability to raise her so high, and then, knock her down low. Inquired after Keela, the little grifter, who he’d fucked while they were together, and then, planted at _The Dalliance_ to spy on her. Remarks about Quin and his status as a _“kept pet,”_ and how good he must be at getting railed and giving head for someone as rich as Logan to pay him the slightest bit of attention. Did Margaret’s disappointment remind her of her mother’s? Did she sometimes lay in bed at night and wonder what daddy would say if he saw her now?

Then, Bret moved on to her _Captain,_ her _savior,_ her _deep-pocketed_ man. Was that how she got such a good lawyer? Admittedly, he said, her snatch had never been the problem; she was plebeian, but he enjoyed things from the wrong side of the tracks from time to time. Is that what Chris liked, too? Is that what _Chrissy-boy_ had gotten a taste of? Was he pussy whipped? How long before he decided she was not the kind of woman he could take home to mommy? Would it be soon? Would it be today?

Y/N hadn’t reacted – not to a solitary, snide, utterly foul comment – but then, he said…

_“You know, I never filmed you. You weren’t worth the space it would have taken up on my phone. You just saw a flash of some bitch who kind of looked like you and just like that, I owned you.”_

Apparently, his laptop, phone, and tablet had been thoroughly searched by his lawyer, and nothing with her image had been found. He’d long ago deleted any photos they’d taken together and had removed any evidence their relationship existed from his social media accounts. Others he’d been with had been recorded, of course, but that was just for his personal use. His council was aware, but given the extortion charge, disclosing he’d never filmed her in court wouldn’t have changed the outcome for him. 

Bret twisted the knife over, and over, and over, because he knew he could. Even though he was in chains, he still had her bound, because now, Y/N would have to live with what he put her through. She’d have to live with knowing in the end, it had all been for nothing, because she was nothing. Women didn’t leave him, he left them, and the only reason Bret had done all this was to teach her a lesson – one he knew she’d _never_ forget.

Getting up from the table and walking out had been a good idea; turning her back on Bret, however, had been a mistake. He’d never raised a hand to her in violence, as he was a man of breeding who preferred to use his words, but a desperate man could, as he’d put it, only handle so much temptation.

From out of nowhere, a chain went around her throat, and it was pulled taut, hard, and fast. It cut off air and made her feet dangle from the floor. While Y/N clawed for freedom, Bret got aroused, and his dark laugh caused bile to climb up her windpipe.

Pure instinct and muscle memory made her drop her entire body weight, and it shocked him just long enough. She planted her feet on the floor and pushed up and back as had as she could. Gravity took over, flung them both onto the table, and the force had been enough to bring her legs up and over her head. Bret’s cuffs bit into her face and resulted in the first spray of blood. Then, a balled-up fist from below, and another to the side of her face that sent her falling.

Bret had gotten to his feet and swiped at her, but she managed to roll in time. Y/N chose fight over flight, stood, reached for the closest chair, and threw it at him. He barreled into her, used his size to take her to the ground, but a knee to the balls was all it took to have him on his back. Y/N rolled over him, sat on his chest, and wrapped the same chain that had been used against her around her fist.

Then, she’d reared her arm back, and let it fly.

Incessantly, repeatedly, ceaselessly; she’d screamed like a banshee and unleashed hell. From one fist, and then, to the other, not because it hurt, but because her arm got tired. Then, a loud bang startled her, and stopped her mid-swing.

The door had been hit so forcefully that the knob busted clear through the drywall. While Bret moaned in a heap on the floor, his lawyer shouted for someone to call an ambulance, and she was told to put her hands up. Vic’s scream of horror registered, but it was quickly cut off; shock to the system notwithstanding, she ranted at the guards. She asked who had locked the door, if they’d been watching the camera at all, and why they’d aimed their weapons at her client.

“ _He_ went after _her_! Don’t you even think about trying to arrest her!” Vic bellowed at them, and then, turned on Bret’s lawyer. “You said she’d be safe – that he had no history of violence! He nearly killed her! I will have heads on spikes for this, and yours, councilor, will be the first!”

When the chain was out of Y/N’s hand, the guards holstered their weapons; no longer viewed as a threat, they were quick to ask if she needed medical attention. Paramedics arrived within minutes and attended to Bret first because he was the one worse off. Many, many things had been broken, but he would survive. Pumped full of morphine and passed out on a stretcher, he was wheeled out of the room, with his lawyer trailing along behind.

A third paramedic approached her, but something in Y/N’s body language must’ve screamed _hands off_ , because a liberal step back was taken. Officers wanted a statement, Vic wanted her to sit down, she tasted blood, somebody had to fix the door, and the damn paramedic and his damn stethoscope were getting too fucking close…

“Y/N?”

A deep voice – one she recognized – followed by, _‘Y/N, you’re hyperventilating. Just -- nice and easy. No, don’t look at them, look at me. Come ‘ere, I’ve got you...”_

Someone was touching her face. Then, someone kissed her; it forced her hold her breath, and wasn’t _that_ strange? Another kiss that was, well, rather kind of pleasant. In her mind, Y/N thought, _‘please, sir, may I have some more?’_ and maybe whoever kissed her was reading her mind, because her request had been granted.

The next breath Y/N had taken was an even one, and when she’d opened her eyes, Chris was looking down at her, eyes brimming, and lips smeared with her blood.

“You broke down the door,” she’d blurted rather dumbly.

A clipped laugh and a wry grin, followed by another soft press of his mouth to hers before he lifted his head. Y/N saw his gaze shift as he took silent assessment of her injuries; split lip, a face already starting to swell, bruising around her throat, and bleeding but unbroken knuckles. Chris’s eyes watered, and as he clocked them, he used the pads of his thumbs to gently wipe away her own tears. 

The paramedics eventually got their way, but she’d had the same types of injuries before, and knew the drill; icepacks, painkillers, band aids, and rest. The officers also got Y/N’s statement, but really didn’t need it; the whole thing had been recorded and was open-and-shut self-defense. Vic said she was going to make it rain – both in coin and hell-fire – and told whoever she was talking to on the phone that her client would _‘be wiping her ass with one-hundred-dollar bills’_ by the time she’d finished.

Y/N was free to leave and though she wanted nothing more than to just go home, she knew she couldn’t leave the courthouse covered in blood. Chris saw her to the bathroom, and though technically only one occupant was allowed to enter at a time, none of the guards dared question it when he followed her in.

Now, here they were, side-by-side at the sink, and she wondered -- not for the first time -- how the hell things had gotten so out of control.

“Not so hard, Y/N.”

She looked down at her bloody hands, which she’d been scraping at with her nails for nearly ten minutes, and felt her eyes burn with tears. Chris cleared his throat roughly, and then, took her hands in his beneath the faucet.

It took a lot of paper towel and even more soap, but eventually, Y/N’s fingernails and palms no longer looked like they’d been dipped in red paint. While she dabbed at her face and lip, Chris took off his hoodie, and the t-shirt beneath. After she’d dried off, he helped her with the buttons on her bloodied blouse, slid it down and away from her arms, and threw it in the trash. His t-shirt came over her head a moment later, and though it was way too big, it was clean, warm, and felt safe.

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” Chris stated lowly as he put his hoodie back on. “I also don’t think you should go to work for the next couple days.”

“Okay,” Y/N breathed out as she tried to arrange her hair in some semblance of order.

“I also think you should stay with me tonight.”

“Alright.”

The expression on his face in the mirror suggested he hadn’t expected her to agree to any of the terms; the look of relief, and the small, spark of victory in his eyes made her weepy all over again.

A glance at her own reflection showed a lot of blooming bruises and a fat lip, and that only made her cry harder. When Y/N began to prattle on about how Quin was going to freak out, how people were going to stare, and how pictures of her looking like this would be floating around forever, Chris took her into his arms, and held her close.

“I’m a fucking mess,” she blubbered. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just--”

“You did what you had to do,” he insisted, punctuating it with a kiss to the top of her head. “And before you ask, no – I don’t think less of you for it.”

Though they didn’t talk about it again, they did hold each other, and managed to convey everything else that could’ve been said. When Chis asked if she was ready to go, she nodded, and he gently took her by the hand. Out of the bathroom and into the hallway; to the doors and down the steps again; past the microphones and cameras; across the street, into the parking garage, and finally, to his car.

Not once -- in all that time -- did Chis ever let go.


	21. Chapter 20: Dawning

**Chapter 20: Dawning**

It wasn’t the scent of Y/N’s shampoo or coffee that woke Chris the next morning. Instead, he’d been poked, prodded, and pestered into consciousness by the constant vibration of his phone and the way the screen kept repeatedly lighting up.

By now, it was likely the press was outside the gates of his home and camped out at her apartment. They had probably also uncovered Quin’s address and were getting ready to station themselves there in the event she wanted to return to the place she’d been hiding out.

Given the events that had occurred, it wasn’t surprising, and he imagined people would have a lot to say. There’d be speculation, accusations, and questions, and he just knew, without even looking at his cell, that his mother had called more than once. Chris was well aware the bubble had burst, that he would have to get up and face the music, but he didn’t want to.

Just for a little while longer, he wanted to hold Y/N, and keep the world at bay.

After everything that had happened, Y/N had been exhausted, and when they got to his house, she’d just wanted to go to sleep. Both he and the pup dutifully and protectively followed, and together, beneath the weighted blanket, with Dodger at the foot of the bed, they slept, and didn’t move all night.

They’d been out for almost twelve hours, and now, life was knocking, Dodger wanted to be let outside, and all he wanted to do was keep himself and Y/N hidden beneath the covers. He’d been so intently focused on shutting everything else out that he hadn’t realized Dodger had given up on him completely, gone to the other side of the bed, and had begun nudging and licking at Y/N’s bruised knuckles.

“Hey, sweet boy,” her groggy voice murmured.

Chris didn’t even have a chance to say he would take care of it before the blanket was thrown back and she was up and out of the bed. Swimming in his t-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, Y/N half wobbled, half weaved her way to the sliding door. She stood in the open air, eyes closed and head lolled down, and waited for the dog to do his business. Faster than ever before, Dodger returned, and while she retreated to the bathroom, he stood guard outside the door.

“Really, Bub?” Chris asked.

The head tilt he got in response made him roll his eyes, and when Y/N came out, she rewarded Dodger with a soft pat to his head. Chris watched as she also gave an experimental flex of her hands, as if testing the pain level, and saw the way she ran a palm gingerly over her throat and jaw. Even in dim lighting, he could see the bruises, and both the fear and rage that had been tempered by sleep reared up again.

Chris must’ve made some sort of discontented noise, because Y/N looked up at him, and frowned.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“No, I was up before you were.”

Both she and his dog came back toward the bed. The jangle of a collar filled the air before Dodger hopped up and burrowed in. Y/N, on the other hand, came to his side of the bed, sat down, and rested a hand in the center of his chest. She asked him if he wanted coffee, and when he responded with a clipped ‘ _no,_ ’ she quirked an eyebrow, took her hand away, and placed it in her lap.

“You’re pissed,” Y/N declared bluntly.

He sighed and ran a hand over his beard, “Not at you.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Chris rubbed the sleep from his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He hadn’t needed to see the security footage from the courthouse meeting to know what had gone on between her and Bret. The outcome of it was staring him right in the face and it reminded him of just how powerless he’d been. Even as a self-proclaimed feminist, who was fully aware of just how capable Y/N was at taking care of herself, there was a deep, dark part of him that had an almost overwhelming, primal urge to protect her.

At one time, he’d been content in knowing she could hold her own. Sometimes, her job irritated the piss out of him, but not through any fault of her own. It was base and completely animalistic, but Chris didn’t like the thought of other men touching Y/N, let alone hurting her. It was something he’d kept to himself because he didn’t want her to feel smothered or patronized.

Yet, when he recalled how he’d seen the guards rushing toward the room and saw their failed attempts to get in… How his reason just flew right the fuck out of his head as he braced himself and kicked in the door… The sight of Y/N, covered in blood, and the visceral way he’d wanted to both comfort her and murder him… Then, afterward, realizing just how close of a call it had been, and the overwhelming need to shelter her…

Y/N had come into his life at the worst possible time. He was teetering on the ledges of both depression and anxiety, and not coping well with either. While his career was on the fast track and he had plenty to occupy himself with, he felt more and more like an emotional shut in. Accepting that invitation to _The Dalliance_ had been just another lame attempt to blow off steam; much like the pot, he’d hoped it would be a place that would mellow him out, or at the very least, provide a distraction.

Chris had not been looking for anyone to be the company to his misery, and when he met Y/N, it hadn’t exactly been under the best of circumstances. He’d been drunk, high, and nearly robbed when she came to the rescue, and though Chris had been attracted to her from the start, it was only after Sebastian’s incessant nagging that he’d texted her. He’d had no illusions or expectations, but all it took was one reply from her, and he’d been hooked.

She’d taken him apart like a neglected tinker-toy, removed all the rot that had festered, and put him back together again. The path they’d headed down together had been riddled with forks and detours, and yes, they’d even gotten lost and had to turn around a couple of times. Now, they were headed in an unknown direction, but that wasn’t what scared him.

He was terrified he’d lose her and he couldn’t shake the thought of what _could_ have happened. What if she hadn’t been able to overpower him? What if Bret had, instead of just hitting her, had knocked her unconscious? What if he hadn’t kicked down the door, or had been too late?

“Chris,” Y/N called out quietly. “You okay?”

Pulled from his thoughts, he met her eyes, and shook his head, “He could have killed you.”

There was a long pause before she gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Y/N didn’t try to trivialize, but there was a resoluteness in her eyes that conveyed she wasn’t going to be ruled by it, either. Y/N’s quiet display of strength and resilience stirred him, which made him sit up, and take her into his arms.

“I’m going to be alright,” she insisted, her hand moving up and down his spine soothingly. “I’ll heal.”

Chris leaned back and carefully held her face in his hands. He wanted to tell her he knew she would do more than just heal. He wanted to say how proud he was of her for standing up for herself and literally fighting back. He wanted to cry because she’d won, was finally free, and that meant the world was now wide open to her. He wanted to promise her he’d never let anything bad happen to her, that he would defend her, and if anyone ever again so much as looked at her sideways, he’d snap their necks. He wanted to tell her he was sorry because he knew there was still a long road ahead, but that he was willing to walk it with her if she’d have him.

Instead of all that, Chris tossed back the blanket, pulled her astride his lap, and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. Rather than tell her what he felt, he showed her, and began by lifting her shirt up and over her head. Once it was tossed aside, he tucked her hair behind her ears, and pressed his lips to her forehead. A slow journey down the bridge of her nose, then, to her chin, beneath her bruised jaw, and along the column of her tender throat.

Y/N tilted her head back and made room for him to continue to her collarbone. When Chris dipped down further, she gasped, and when his mouth grazed between her breasts, she sighed out his name, and arched into his touch. Nice and slow, soft and tender; unhurried and with regard, he wrapped an arm around her waist, and rolled her onto her back atop the soft, warm sheets.

Chris continued languidly, unwilling to be rushed, and made sure his mouth claimed the swell of her breasts and the softness of her stomach. Propped on his knees, he removed the remaining clothes that barred her skin from him, and traced both his hands and tongue up her calve, cross her knee, and back down between her thighs.

It was here, in the most delicate place, that Chris imparted his secrets. Laving and suckling was how he told her just how much she meant to him; delving in for a taste going back for more was his way of saying he was hers and Y/N was his; fingers curling and tongue swirling, he made it clear he knew just how she liked it, that she could have it her way, for however long she wanted, as long as he was the one who brought her, and it was only his name she cried out when she came.

Inside of her, with their bodies pressed tight together and mouths brushing, he silently confessed there was no one like her and no one else but her. Chris had been to ends of the world, done all there was to do, but it was when he was with Y/N, especially like this, that he felt at home. With every roll of his hips, he whispered all the things about her that he adored, along with all the things that drove him crazy, and yes, _fuck, yes,_ he knew she wasn’t perfect, but she was in his marrow, and she made him better.

In the quiet moments after, with his head resting on her chest, and her fingers buried in his hair, he told her, yet again without words, that this was bliss. Soaking in her touch, hearing her satisfied murmurs, the taste of her still on his tongue, the scent of her skin…

“Y/N?” he whispered.

“Mmm?”

What he had to say required words this time, and without reluctance, Chris lifted his head, looked right into her eyes, and said them.

“I love you.”


	22. Chapter 21: Windfall

**Chapter 21: Windfall**

They’d both dropped _the ‘L’ word_ , and less than a week later, Chris had to get ready for his next project. This time, it wasn’t going to be just a few days, or even a couple of weeks; it was a trip out of the country that would last a little over a month, and required a lot of preparation.

While Y/N busied herself with healing and hiding from the press, Chris was in and out of the house like a whirlwind: mandatory physical and immunizations; meticulous travel arrangements and a hell of a lot of packing; getting Dodger situated, calming his mother down, and promising he’d explain and make introductions when he got back; getting an extra set of keys made and asking her to stay because he’d feel better leaving if he knew she was safe; making it abundantly clear to both her and the media that he would not be answering any questions when it came to Y/N and their relationship.

Chris had an appetite for her that always made her feel desired, but he’d been positively insatiable the day and night before he left. His need to have her against every surface and in every room made her wonder if she should invest stock in condoms. He rode her hard, put her up wet, and did the same thing again in the morning before he had to get up and dress, or else, miss his first of many flights. His parting kiss had been both sweet and scorching, and then, he was gone.

About a week after Chris’s departure, Y/N couldn’t take being cooped up anymore, and decided it was time to go back to work. Margaret absolutely refused to let her return without first being cleared by a doctor, and with Chris having given her free reign of the house and garage, she had the means to get there, so, she made the appointment.

When she was asked the reason for her visit, she didn’t lie; though Y/N spared the details, the doctor got a clear enough picture, and asked for permission to do a more thorough examination. The woman’s kind eyes bled concern as she explained it was all just a precaution, but given the situation, and the recent trauma, it was her duty as a physician to ensure nothing was amiss.

What should’ve been a routine visit turned into a full blown, head-to-toe exam, including bloodwork, a pregnancy test, sexual history, stirrups, and questions as to whether or not she wanted to go on birth control, and if so, what method she preferred. When she checked out almost two hours later, she was told they’d call if any follow up was needed. Y/N left with her discharge papers and arm sore from both the blood draw and the implant in her bicep.

Another week went by before she’d gotten the all clear from the doctor and was allowed to return to work. The press had finally accepted she wouldn’t talk to them, and thankfully, moved on to the next drama. This gave her not only breathing room, but also the opportunity to go to her apartment, and get some of her own clothes to wear. Y/N had just finished changing and was pulling on her boots when her phone buzzed and Vic’s name came across the screen.

“I have some news to share with you,” Vic greeted right away.

“Oookay,” she replied hesitantly. “Is it good or bad?”

“Oh, it’s good – better than good, actually. Can you come by tomorrow morning for a chat?”

“Uh, sure?”

After agreeing to be there right after her shift, Y/N hung up, and pursed her lips. She was curious as to what the meeting would be about, but didn’t get to mull over it for long. Almost as soon as the screen went dark, it lit up again; this time, it was Chris texting, and the news he shared wasn’t exactly bad, but it wasn’t great, either.

Inclement weather meant shooting would be delayed, which meant he’d also be delayed getting back home. Y/N assured him her patience hadn’t grown thin, and when he asked how things were in LA, she told him she’d managed to make it back to her apartment, and Vic wanted to see her. Clearly, it had been a mistake to share this information with him, because now, they were having a spat about it.

He wanted her to wait until he got back so he could go with her. Y/N relayed that Vic expressed a sense of urgency about the meeting, and followed it up by reassuring him she’d be fine, and could handle it on her own. As a counter, Chris insisted if she wouldn’t wait, she had to take Quin. She shot back that Quin was busy at his new job, was now working a day shift, and couldn’t drop everything to hand-hold her.

That had prompted a virtual tirade of veiled fears phrased in the form of questions.

_The paparazzi – were they still following her? Were the reporters still showing up at her work? Did she really need to go back to her apartment? Dodger liked her better than the sitter, so, what was the problem with her staying for a bit longer? Just until things cooled down? And did she have to go back to work so soon? Didn’t she want to just rest? If she was going back to work, really wanted to be at her apartment, and absolutely had to go to the meeting, then, she’d take his car, right? No taxis or public transportation?_

Instead of texting back, Y/N tapped the call button. She heard Chris take a deep breath when the line went live, which meant he was gathering up steam, but she didn’t let the crazy train leave the station.

“I love you,” Y/N murmured. “And when you get back, you will not be leaving the bed until I’ve had my wicked, wicked way, so, make sure you stay hydrated, and stretch beforehand.”

A whoosh of an exhale, and then, he laughed, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you speak.”

“Of course, you don’t.”

Y/N grinned, gathered her own steam, and began to say things in tone reserved just for him. Like how much she missed him and that her body _craved_ him. That she thought about him, and when she touched herself, she imagined it was him. How she got off, but it wasn’t even close to feeling the same, because it wasn’t as _good_ , and not nearly as _satisfying_ as having him inside her. Then, she explained, regrettably, that a lot of his sweaters were at the dry cleaners because she enjoyed wearing them, and _nothing_ else, when she crawled into his bed. The sheets still smelled faintly of him, and it caused her to have such _filthy_ dreams that made her positively _throb_ with need.

When Chris groaned _‘fuck me,’_ she replied she intended to, and he bit out that he expected her to be at his house and completely naked when he finally got home. 

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she purred.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he growled lowly. “When I get my hands on you…”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask just what _exactly_ he intended to do, but before she could, someone bellowed his name, and said he was needed on set.

“This isn’t over,” Chris rasped.

“I certainly hope not,” Y/N giggled.

After a rushed goodbye, he hung up, and she allowed herself to bask in the triumph. After Y/N cooled down a bit, she snagged her keys from the coffee table, and headed to _The Dalliance._

Her coworkers were happy to have her back, but nobody more so than Logan. Things hadn’t been running very smoothly, and he was relieved she’d returned; according to him, the security team needed firm handling when Margaret wasn’t there to steer the ship, and with Quin gone, and how busy he was, he just didn’t have time to keep the hotheads in line. It was an unexpected, albeit strange compliment, but Y/N accepted it. After checking in with Margaret, and submitting her clean bill of health, she resumed her post.

The first night back had been exhausting and not at all tame, but it was good, because it helped her get back into the swing of things. After she ushered out the last member, she showered, changed, and headed to the law firm.

When Y/N stepped foot in the lobby, Yvonne was there to greet her, and immediately took her to Vic’s office. The grin on the lawyer’s face when she entered was Cheshire-like, and after Y/N was invited to sit and Yvonne brought in refreshments, they were left alone.

“After what happened, the judge threw the book at him,” Vic said as she poured the coffee. “A mandatory ten years, a very, _very_ hefty fine, and what I believe is satisfactory restitution.”

Her lips parted and her eyes widened, “Come again?”

Vic held up a finger and took a sip before she got to her feet. A quick trip to the desk and she was back again, this time, with a blue folder in hand. She passed it over and instructed Y/N to open it.

Inside, there was a formal letter of apology from Bret’s parents, along with a copy of a statement they intended to issue to the press. They wanted to make it clear they in no way condoned their son’s behavior and that nothing they could do would ever make up for what he’d done to her. Behind the letter and statement was another piece of paper, which displayed only three lines.

The first two were blackened out, but the third showed a dollar sign, and the number twenty, followed by six zeroes. There was a cashier’s check attached at the bottom that exhibited the same amount, and when Y/N realized what was in her hand, she cursed, and nearly spilled coffee into her lap.

Vic took the cup from her hand, set it on the table, and got to her feet, “Now, I think this calls for a celebration.”

Y/N blinked slowly, looked up at Vic, and squeaked out, “Is this even _real_?”

Yvonne came in a moment later, bottle of chilled champagne in hand, and a bright smile on her face. While she popped the cork, Vic explained it was all _very, very_ real. They’d taken into account the money Y/N had paid, added in the current interest rate, and tacked on the debt she’d incurred due to the financial hardship. Then, the firm made sure to note every, single bit of the pain and suffering she’d endured, and put out a settlement offer.

The family’s lawyers countered with a low-ball sum and Vic had pounced; she reminded them her client was a victim, who was in a very high-profile relationship, and the family they represented had a tarnished reputation and a psychopathic son. Vic also informed them she was happy to formally sue, and let it all play out in the court of public opinion, but that would mean even more scrutiny, and would most likely result in a higher settlement.

In less than a business day, they’d countered with a more appropriate number, and it was accepted.

“There’s some paperwork you’ll have to sign, but that can wait,” Vic said, turning and offering a glass of bubbly. “Right now, we toast, and revel in the victory.”

Y/N stood on wobbly legs and accepted the flute, “You did promise heads on spikes.”

Yvonne nodded and held her glass aloft, “And Vic _always_ keeps her promises.”

Vic held up her own champagne in salute, “To Y/N, to justice, and to money you can wipe your ass with.”

Still lightheaded and not over the shock, Y/N tapped glasses with them, and sipped. As Yvonne and Vic discussed the loose ends that needed tying up, she sat back down, and did her best not to cry. Tears welled anyway, and when her phone went off, she saw Quin’s name, and opened the text.

_Chris called Sebastian in a tizzy because he’s worried about you? Now, Sebastian is blowing up MY phone, and I don’t know what to say to him? WTF is happening? Are you okay? -Q_

She took a deep breath, let out slowly, and reread the text. For the first time in a long time, Y/N was better than just okay. She was finally, truly, and completely free.

_Y/N? Talk to me – what’s going on? -Q_

Still at a loss for words, Y/N reached for the folder containing the check, and took a picture of just the dollar amount. She shot it off, and a minute later, her phone rang.

“That’s a fucking lot of fucking zeroes,” he blurted excitedly when she answered.

“You think?” she croaked.

“Does this mean it’s over?”

After a quick rundown of what her meeting with Vic entailed, Quin whistled lowly, chuckled, and said it was all absolutely and perfectly timed.

“Why?” Y/N asked.

“Because I’m getting married, and now, you can throw me an absolute banger of a bachelor party.”

Y/N choked on her champagne and shot to her feet, “Why didn’t you fucking lead with that?”

He made a kissy noise over the phone, “Because I live to torture you, too.”

“Quin, are you serious? That’s – I’m so happy for you! Is this why Logan was on edge all damn night? When did he propose? Fuck, when is this happening? Do I have time to plan? Oh, since I’m the best man, does that mean I get to wear a suit instead of a dress?”

“This is why I love you,” he said sincerely. “You are more excited to talk about my wedding arrangements instead of the fact that you just became independently wealthy.”

Y/N grinned and accepted more champagne, “Should we get together for dinner and talk details?”

“Tacos and margaritas?” Quin asked hopefully.

“Done,” she agreed. “I’ll pick you up.”

After arranging the time, Y/N hung up, and laughed. When Vic asked what could have possibly brought on such excitement, she smiled, and raised her glass again.

“Just life,” Y/N sighed happily. “Just… _Life_.”


	23. Chapter 22: Homecoming

**Chapter 22: Homecoming**

Chris checked the clock on his phone for the umpteenth time before tossing it onto the tray in front of him. He could look at the damn thing as often as he liked, but that didn’t mean the flight would be over any sooner, and he really needed to sleep.

Despite the weather delays, filming had gone really well, and the rest would be completed stateside. Though he’d been irritated by having to delay his return home, he couldn’t deny the film’s location had been stunning, and he enjoyed both the work and intermittent downtime he got. The only thing that could have made it better was if Y/N had been able to experience it with him, but since she wasn’t able to, he’d sent her lots of pictures. He’d also more than subtly hinted they should plan a trip someplace and go on a getaway together, just the two of them.

That had been the last text Chris had sent to her before his flight. He’d followed it up before getting on the second plane with an ETA, but she hadn’t replied. With the time difference, his shooting schedule, and her returning to work, they were often two ships passing in the night. During his last two weeks abroad, they’d only spoken once, and the texts had also become more infrequent. Though he was a man who admittedly enjoyed working and having time to himself, he missed Y/N, and couldn’t wait to get home to her.

After snapping off the overhead light, Chris leaned his chair back, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. This was the last leg of the journey and it would be another seven hours before he touched down in LA; if he could tick off a few of them by being unconscious, all the better. He swore he’d just nodded off when a flight attendant placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. After being informed they’d begun their descent, he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stowed his things. 

An hour later, he was wheeling a cart full of luggage to the exit, and hailing a taxi. It was just before dawn, which meant the city was starting to stir, but lucky for him, traffic hadn’t gotten too heavy. After being dropped off, he hauled his bags inside, left them by the front door, and kicked off his shoes.

The first thing he noticed was that the living room was dark and Dodger was suspiciously absent. Chris double checked his phone, thinking perhaps he’d misread the text from the dog sitter, but sure enough, his buddy had been dropped off, and there were photos to prove it. Brow furrowed, he hit the light switch by the door, and called out his name.

When Chris didn’t receive a response, he panicked a bit, and began checking the house. The last stop was the bedroom; the sliding glass door was open, and when he stepped out onto the floating deck, he found the lumbering idiot pacing by the pool. The reason for Dodger being outside and his immense preoccupation revealed itself when Y/N’s head emerged from the water. The dog let out a little woof when she cooed at him, and when she went back under and turned for another lap, he excitedly barked and ran along side.

With the pool lights off and sky still inky, all Chris could see was the dark outline of Y/N’s body, lithe and powerful, as she moved through the water. Much like Dodger, he found himself pacing alongside, and watching with great anticipation. The sun had just started to peak over the horizon when she stopped at the pools center, turned, and floated onto her back. It was there, in the dawning light, with her eyes closed and hair fanning all around, that he realized she wasn’t wearing a suit.

“You said to be naked when you got home,” her voice called out playfully.

Chris chuckled and shook his head, “That I did.”

A splash of water, and then, Y/N was swimming toward the steps. It wasn’t until she had gotten out and was wrapped up in a towel that Dodger even realized he was there. While Chris fulfilled his pup’s demand for attention, she told him she was going to go shower, and to join her when he was ready. Though everything inside of him was itching to go after her, throw her over his shoulder, and take her to bed, Chris knew Dodger would give them no peace until he got his fill of pets and praises. 

Less than ten minutes later, he was covered in slobber and dog fur, and Dodger was contented enough to dismiss his company in favor of going inside. Chris followed, and in a predictable fashion, his dog plopped down on the floor beside the bed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Careful not to startle Y/N, he tapped his knuckles on the door in announcement, and walked into a wall of steam.

The open shower stall was glass-encased, which meant he got an unobstructed view. Much like the first time he’d seen her naked, Chris’s stomach flip-flopped, and his pulse jumped maddeningly. Eyes closed, fingers in her hair, and body littered with bubbles of soap – Y/N wasn’t putting on a show, but he enjoyed watching just the same. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame, satisfied -- for the moment -- with just looking and drinking her in.

Seeing Y/N like this -- _feeling_ like this -- was something he’d never tire of. 

“Get in here,” she ordered.

He bit his lower lip and moved to stand at the edge of the shower, “I can wait.”

“I can’t.”

The statement was immediately followed up by her grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt and hauling him forward. Her mouth was like a branding iron and one kiss was all it took. Like a match set to gasoline, the fire roared, and quickly became an inferno. One minute, he’d been fully clothed beneath the spray; the next, his shirt and pants landed in wet plop on the tile, and her hand was wrapped tight around him.

His curse and the dull thud of his head against the glass were drowned out by her throaty laugh. Her lips were suckling his neck, and Chris was already gritting his teeth in an effort to hang on.

“Seems like I’m the one getting my hands on you,” she rasped lowly in his ear. “Are you going to come for me like this?”

Chris knew it was a taunt and he countered with one of his own, “Are you going to just play with me or are you going to do what you said and fuck me?”

Y/N slid her tongue along the shell of his ear and nipped at the lobe, “All you had to do was ask.”

A moment later, the shower was off, and he was being shuffled rather forcefully out and into the bedroom. Water puddled and dripped with each step, and then, his back hit the mattress. He blinked and Y/N was on her knees between his legs, and drawing him into her mouth.

“Please, tell me you restocked the condoms,” he growled.

She lifted her head and paused, “Um, well…”

Chris was pretty sure his expression conveyed both his shock and abject horror, and after she had a good, hearty laugh about it, Y/N laid down beside him, took his hand, and guided it to a spot beneath her arm. Just under the skin was a birth control implant, and after she gave him a run down on the when and the reason, she asked if he was okay with it.

“It’s _your_ body,” he murmured quietly. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. And if you still want to use--”

Y/N pressed a finger to his lips, “I don’t want there to be _any_ barriers between us anymore. This was just as much for me as it was for you.”

The mix of sincerity, love, and want he found in her gaze floored him. Whatever she saw reflected back made her smile and reach for him again. The mood hadn’t been at all ruined by their conversation, but it hand changed; instead of the passion being raging and blinding, it became intense and acute.

The foreplay took some of the edge off, but it also cranked up the need. They were both breathing hard, trying not to rush, doing their best to make this new first last, but the hunger clawed. They were starved for each other, and when Y/N cried out for him, he pulled her leg over his hip, and finally, _finally,_ he was home.

Face-to-face, closer than they’d ever been, they both stilled and held their breaths. Her nails bit harshly into his shoulder and he was sure his hand was bruising her thigh. With the dial turned all the way up, everything was heightened; it was unadulterated pleasure, the epitome of sensation and stimulation overload, and the clench of all that wet, wet heat around his bare erection made his head reel and his hips involuntarily roll.

“Mmmm,” she shuddered, foot anchored at the base of his spine.

“Good?” he rasped.

Y/N nodded and curled her hand around the back of his neck, “Perfect.”

Chris watched her take her lower lip between her teeth, and when he hit a particularly sweet spot deep in her core, she gasped. They were rocking as one, their bodies moving slowly, breathing matched to the rhythm they created. Y/N’s request for more was nothing more than a breathless moan, and like a man entranced by a siren’s song, he gave her what she wanted.

He rolled her onto her back and forgot all about going slow and savoring it, because her entreaty had morphed, and she was begging him to take her. Sharper, deeper, faster thrusts; legs hooked over his forearms, pelvis grinding against her clit; headboard beating like a drum against the wall, watching every emotion flit across her face, and falling in love with her even more. A repetitive cry of _‘don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,’;_ the stunning picture Y/N made when she orgasmed, back arched, voice hoarse, and body shaking; how she looked into his eyes when she came again and took him right along with her…

This was a wholly different kind of nakedness, and when Y/N wrapped her limbs around him, kissed him, and told him she loved him, it made him feel vulnerable and powerful all at the same time. With no desire to leave the bed any time soon, Chris carefully slipped out from between her thighs, stretched out beside her, and pulled her into his arms. 

“I missed you. I missed this…” 

“You _were_ gone a long time.”

“I know.”

“And some _interesting_ things happened while you were away.”

He sighed, snuggled in closer, and trailed his hand up and down the length of her spine, “You gonna tell me about these interesting things or do I need to guess?”

She hummed and lightly scratched his beard, “Later. Right now, I just want to be here with you.”

Chris turned his head and kissed the center of her palm. Relaxed and contented for the first time in over a month, he held Y/N tighter, and closed his eyes. He’d had absolutely no intention of falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, it was dark outside, and Y/N’s side of the bed was occupied by a snoring Dodger.

A folded-up piece of paper, propped up against the lamp on the nightstand, provided explanation as to her whereabouts.

_Saving Quin from himself. BRB. Stretch. Hydrate. Stay naked. XXX -Y/N_

Chris chuckled and thought: damn, it really was good to be home.


	24. Chapter 23: Parental Approval

**Chapter 23: Parental Approval**

The trip home to meet his parents hadn’t exactly been carefully planned or well thought out.

He’d been back in LA for about a week when his mother, fed up with him evading her, had issued an ultimatum: either Chris visit and bring Y/N along, or she was going to make his life hell. Knowing his mom, it wasn’t an idle threat, and after rearranging schedules and seeing Dodger taken care of, their flight was booked, and they were on a plane to his hometown.

After disembarking and renting a car, Chris drove Y/N around his old neighborhood, showed her where he went to school, the places he’d hung out, his dad’s first dentistry practice, and the spot where he had his first kiss. He talked about what it was like growing up, the things he did, and how he’d gone from this to being an actor. If she sensed he was nervous and stalling, she didn’t say; instead, Y/N held his hand, nodded, and allowed him to talk and drive around aimlessly for as long as he liked.

When he finally worked up enough courage, Chris took them to his parent’s house; as he pulled into the driveway, he explained he absolutely loved his family, but they could be very overwhelming, and that was really all the warning he could give her. Y/N’s tender kiss and undisturbed expression meant he was more worked up about it than she was, and after gathering their bags out of the trunk, he took her hand, and lead her up to the house.

Getting through the front door had been easy, but as soon as his brother spotted him depositing their things by the threshold, he bellowed out they’d arrived, and that’s when the volume increased. Chris’s family was loud, affectionate, and not the least bit reserved; he hugged each of his siblings in turn, received a hearty clap on the back from his dad, and was drawn into the kitchen to see his mom.

He had left Y/N alone for no more than two minutes, but when he got back to the living room, appetizer trays in hand, his sisters and brother had formed a semi-circle around her. They’d clearly coordinated beforehand and intended to put her through the wringer, but his dad came to the rescue, told them to be polite, and at least offer her a drink before beginning the interrogation.

“So helpful, dad,” Chris mumbled.

“That’s what I’m here for, son,” he replied with a wink. “Now, are you going to introduce us?”

As soon as the proper introductions were made to both his parents, Y/N had been given a glass of water, and they were shooed out of the kitchen. Though there was plenty of room on the couch for him to take a place beside her, his siblings got there first, and practically sandwiched her. Then, the baby book came out, along with the family photo albums. As the smell of homecooked food filled the air, so did all the tales of his “misspent youth.” When his mom finally announced dinner was ready, Chris extracted Y/N from the web that was his sisters and brother, and guided her to the dining room.

“You okay?” he asked as he pulled out a chair for her.

When Chris took a seat beside her, she told him to stop being a worry-wart, and held his hand comfortingly beneath the table. As dishes and bottles of wine were passed around, the conversation flowed rapidly, and in the Evans household, that meant someone was always either yelling, laughing, swearing, or singing praises about the food.

Y/N wasn’t at all intimidated or mum throughout the meal; she held her own like she always did, and wasn’t afraid to trade opinions, jabs, and barbs. It was good-natured and less awkward than he’d imagined it would be, and when the meal was done, she gathered the plates, and began stacking them. 

“You don’t have to do that,” his mother insisted. “Just leave them and I’ll--”

“My parents taught me whoever _doesn’t_ cook cleans up,” Y/N interjected, pointing a butter knife toward his siblings. “That means you all get to help, too. Won’t that be fun?”

The biting sarcasm was not lost on his siblings, who all made comments that ranged from Y/N being bossy to her trying to get on mom and dad’s good side. She took it all in stride and once an assembly line had been formed, everything was cleaned up, and put away. After dinner, they all retreated to the backyard; he, Y/N, and his siblings were tasked to build a bonfire while his parents put their feet up.

It was a cool Boston night, the air crisp with the familiar scent of fall and burning wood. With their chairs situated around the flames and the wine still flowing, the conversation was steered to Y/N, who was asked to share her story. Though his family knew very little about her, they weren’t ignorant; they’d read the articles and heard the tale, but they wanted to hear it from her. She took them on a journey through her childhood and upbringing, talked easily about her education, and was tactful when she explained the death of her parents, what she’d endured, and now the two of them had met.

Y/N didn’t overshare, but she was honest, and Chris fell in love with her all over again.

“So, after all this, you’re _still_ working, and just letting all that money sit in a bank?” Scott asked.

“No,” she deadpanned. “I’m hiding it in my mattress.”

Shanna snorted into her wineglass, “Watch it, Scott, or she’ll put you on a spit and roast you.”

He scoffed, “I’m not scared.”

“I would be – lady with a gun and all that,” Carly remarked playfully.

There was a smattering of laughter, and when it died down, his mother piped up, and asked what Y/N’s intentions were.

“For the future?” she asked.

“No, with my son.”

Chris choked on his wine and wiped his chin, “ _Mom!_ ”

Shanna and Carly pointedly took liberal gulps from their glasses, and announced they needed more before scurrying up from their chairs to get fresh bottles from the house. His brother got up as well, muttered, _‘here we go,’_ beneath his breath, and followed his sisters. His dad, never perturbed, simply folded his hands on his chest, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes.

“Well?” came the prompt, crackling in the air like the logs in the fire. 

“Lisa,” his dad mumbled sleepily. “Just leave it be.”

“It’s a fair and simple enough question.”

The sigh his dad let out matched his own, and while his parents went back and forth about his love life, Chris drained his glass, and stared into the fire. It was inevitable the alcohol would loosen tongues and lower inhibitions even more, and when his mother began prattling off names of ex-girlfriends and how she wanted more grandchildren someday, he ran his hand over his beard, and shook his head. 

When he glanced at Y/N, he hadn’t a clue what to expect – embarrassment, maybe discomfort? What he found instead was her doing her level best to smother her smile, and when she couldn’t, she put a hand over her mouth. Shoulders lightly shaking in silent laughter, she looked at him in such a way as to convey she found this all rather amusing, and didn’t give a single fuck about it.

A comforting touch to his forearm made relief swell, but still, he mouthed an apology. She winked, mimed back, _‘I love you,’_ and intertwined their fingers. Chris rolled his eyes, smiled, and pressed a grateful kiss to the back of her hand. With Y/N’s palm pressed tight to his and her head coming to rest on his shoulder, he knew no matter what, everything was going to be okay.

“We brought more wine!” Shanna sang as she approached. “And dessert! No bonfire is complete without s’mores, am I right?” 

“Ugh, get a room already,” Scott called out when he spotted the two of them snuggling. 

Chris gave his brother a one-fingered salute, which made Carly simultaneously smack him upside the head, and admonish Scott for his teasing. His dad made a remark along the lines of being tired and wanting to hit the hay. His mom commented about the late hour and got to her feet as well. After a round of hugs and promises to see them in the morning, they began to retreat to the house.

“Mind if I follow?” Y/N asked. “And ask for directions to the restroom?”

“Come on, kid,” his dad said, motioning her along. “We’ll lead the way.”

He watched as Y/N trailed a safe distance behind, but eventually, his mom stopped, and turned to face her. Whatever she said made both Y/N and his dad laugh uproariously; when they continued on, it was with her between them, and they talked all the way up to the door.

Scott tore open the bag of marshmallows and smirked, “You’re in trouble now, bro.”

“I like her,” Shanna commented.

Carly cranked the wine opener and pulled out the cork, “I like her, too. She’s ballsy. Seal of approval and permission to marry granted.”

“Awww,” Scott crooned. “Now, our brother will finally be what he was always truly born to be – a kept househusband.”

Chris looked at his siblings and held his arms wide, “I’m sitting right fucking here.”

When Scott began to hum the tune _‘I Can Hear the Bells’_ from _Hairspray_ , and both his sisters joined in, Chris knew it was time to take a breather. They threw marshmallows at his back and told him to behave, and he did his level best to hide his already ruddy face.

Back in the house, he could hear his parents moving around upstairs, and clocked the bags he’d left by the couch were missing. The basement door was slightly ajar, which meant they’d shown Y/N to the guest suite. After making sure to lock the door behind him, he headed down the steps, and found Y/N sitting on the floor beside the bed.

Legs tucked up and chin resting on her knees, she had been staring blankly ahead, but when he called her name, she seemed to come back to herself; a little shake of her head and a soft smile, and when Chris sat down next to her, she laughed lightly.

“Your mom is hell on wheels,” Y/N remarked.

He took a deep breath and blew it out, “Yeah, I have zero explanation for her.”

“She loves you.”

It was an oversimplification of things, but Chris couldn’t deny it was true. His mother was fiercely protective of him and his siblings, and though she could sometimes be a bit overbearing, he always felt so safe knowing she had his back.

“I’m still sorry about earlier,” Chris murmured.

Y/N smiled again and shrugged, “My parents were the same way. If the roles were reversed, they’d have been just as curious. After all, we didn’t exactly meet under normal circumstances, and there’s you know, the small matter of my past.”

He chuckled at that and wrapped his arm around her, “I wish I could’ve known them.”

“They would’ve liked you.”

The surety in her voice made his throat tight; his parents had met previous girlfriend before, but never like this. Chris had never taken any of his exes to his childhood home to meet his entire family, because typically, the relationships never made it that far. It seemed to always start off well, but he never felt as if he’d truly been going in the right direction until now.

With Y/N, it was no-holds-barred. Things were never perfect, but they were always evolving, always trying, even when -- and _especially_ _if_ \-- things got messy or hard. It wasn’t a power struggle and there was no subterfuge. They both had separate lives, but they chose to live them together, and at the end of the day, the scales always seemed to balance. They knew how to communicate with each other, push each other, and love each other. The last eight months had been some of the toughest, craziest, terrifying, eye-opening, and exciting of his life, and he wanted more. 

Given how close his family was, it was no secret that things were different with Y/N; being with her was as natural as breathing, and his family embracing her made him indescribably happy.

“What are you thinking about?”

“That I love you,” he replied. “And I’d like to rip your clothes off right now.”

Y/N elbowed his ribs, “Your siblings probably already think we’re down here doing just that.”

Chris didn’t care, and he intended to tell her so, but a very loud knock, and some crude, albeit interestingly phrased sentences were thrown out by his siblings. They’d clearly already dipped into the fresh bottles of wine and were enjoying themselves at his expense.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to her. “Shall we?”

She nodded firmly and placed her hand in his, “Once more into the breach.”


	25. Chapter 24: Treat Yo' Self

**Chapter 24: Treat Yo' Self**

“God _damn,_ this might be it.”

Y/N echoed the sentiment in her head, but didn’t say it aloud. Too afraid to jinx it, she tapped a finger to her lips, and titled her head.

“Unbutton the jacket?” she requested, motioning for him to turn full circle. “Okay, now, open it. Let me see the front one more time?”

The black, three-piece suit included a vest, wide-peak lapel coat, and trousers; traditional, but on Quin, not at all boring. The tuxedo had a very _Great Gatsby_ vibe about it that Y/N loved, and the cufflinks, black patent shoes, and pocket square were little finishing touches that added a lot of style and class.

Her best friend was going to look _damn fine_ in the wedding photos. 

“This one – this is it,” Y/N asserted.

He turned back toward the mirror, “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“Well, I’m not the one who has to wear it, and really, you could wear a damn paper bag and still look good,” she replied airily. “But if my humble opinion counts for anything, I think _this_ is the suit Logan will want to tear off you as soon as he sees you in it.”

Quin blushed an adorable shade of red and ducked his head. Logan was a regular customer, which meant Quin was allowed to have whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, and that included unlimited opportunities to change his mind – which he’d done four times before. Quin just wanted to look his best on one of the most important days of his life, and though Y/N couldn’t blame him, she knew if she had to go through another round of fittings…

“So?” she prompted, tone hopeful. “Is it the one?”

“Yeah, this is it,” he agreed. “I promise, I won’t change my mind.”

The tailor stepped back and looked both relieved and mightily proud of himself. He explained final adjustments would need to be made closer to the date, but overall, it was a very promising start.

While Quin got busy changing back into his street clothes, Y/N walked around; even after visiting the store several times over the past month, she still couldn’t help but feel more than a little out of place. The swank, ultra-exclusive tailor in Beverly Hills was not exactly her speed, and really, neither was Rodeo Drive. Even now, having more than enough money to burn, the price-tags on some of the items made her queasy.

The display of ties on the wall ranged anywhere from $500 to upwards and in excess of $10,000. On an elaborately arranged table, there was photo of a celebrity endorsing one of the pricier brands, with a tagline that said, _“It’s not about the tie -- it’s about who’s wearing it.”_

“Damn, they’re good,” she muttered as her eye drifted over to a tory navy-blue number.

“Do it.”

Quin’s voice in her ear made her jump, but she managed not to scream, “You rat _bastard_ – you know I hate that.”

He cackled and nodded his head toward the tie, “I dare you.”

“Quin, the damn thing costs more than--”

“He can wear it to the wedding,” Quin interjected, reaching around to pluck it from its’ perch before dangling it in front of her. “It matches _your_ suit, you know?”

Y/N yanked it out of his hand and tried to fold it back into some semblance of order, but it was no use. The clerk asked her if she needed assistance, the armed guard at the door side-eyed them, Quin hissed out, _“double-dog dare ya’,”_ and the combination of it all really didn’t help matters.

“If I get it, will you stop?” she bit out lowly between clenched teeth.

He shrugged lightly, “You never know with me.”

The clerk was looking rather pinched and anxious about her crushing the fabric, so, Y/N smiled as best she could, and said she’d take it. After being complimented for making an excellent choice, the tie was carefully pressed, boxed, wrapped, and put in a bag. She was pretty sure she closed her eyes when she swiped her card and kept them closed as she scrawled her name. Hands literally sweating, Y/N took the bag, gave a polite thank you, and booked it out of the store.

“You need a paper bag to breathe in?” Quin joked as they made their way down the sidewalk.

“Why don’t you just lead me to the nearest trash can so I can puke in it?” Y/N snapped.

“You do realize that other than paying off your debts and monthly bills, that’s the _only_ thing you’ve spent money on,” he replied tentatively. “And it wasn’t even something for yourself.”

She halted mid-stride to argue, but when she really thought about it, Quin was right. Her background had been modest; her parents had never been wealthy, but she’d never wanted for anything, and had grown up quite happy. They hadn’t been able to afford to send her to college, but the student loans and working covered most of it, and after Y/N had graduated from the academy, she’d had a job lined up to support herself.

Y/N admittedly had been been very, very spoiled for a period of time, but it had come with a rude awakening and consequences attached. In the last three years, she’d lost almost everything – and it wasn’t just stuff. She’d almost lost her home and her life, too.

The only frivolous thing she ever spent money on was going out to dinner with Quin, and they took turns with that. She couldn’t remember the last time she bought something on impulse just because she liked it, or treated herself to a new pair of shoes, or hell, even a decent haircut. Though she had no intention of going on any sort of spree, Y/N did have to admit she needed some things…

“You know what?” she finally sighed. “You’re right.”

Quin leaned in and narrowed his eyes, “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Y/N playfully shoved him away and continued walking, “You want to hear something _really_ strange?”

“It’s what I live for,” he quipped, hooking his arm through hers.

“Save for the housewarming party and the motorcycle ride, I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything other than my uniforms around Chris,” she admitted bleakly. “Except maybe pajamas?”

This time, it was Quin who stopped, and the pat he gave to her arm was full of sympathy. The expression on his face suggested he was also both flabbergasted and dismayed.

“Look, I’m not exactly Mr. Fashionista, so, I have no room to comment, but… Wow.”

“Well, we’re kinda naked a lot?”

“Okay – perfectly reasonable excuse, one I whole-heartedly accept and congratulate you for.”

“Why, thank you.”

He took her arm again and continued, “With that being said, you went through hell and back, and the money from that settlement is… Well, it’s there to be spent, and every purchase is a triumphant _‘fuck you’_ to that asshole, okay?”

“Oh, Quin,” she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder dramatically. “Whatever would I do without your sage pearls of wisdom?”

When they arrived at his car, he opened the door for her, and snapped his fingers, “You know what? I think I know what will get you to stop overthinking all this.”

Before she could reply, he shut the door, and ran around to the driver side. Y/N pestered him about where they were headed, but he just smirked, and told her to wait and see. Out of Beverly Hills and past Santa Monica Boulevard, until they reached their destination on the corner of Highland and Hollywood. When Y/N saw the orange and black sign, she squealed, and told him absolutely, under no circumstances, was he to pull into the parking lot.

“Ooooops!” he brayed. “Too late.”

Less than a minute later, she was roaming the showroom, and wondering if anyone was mopping up behind her with a towel as she drooled. Since she’d sold her car, she’d either been bussing it to work, or begrudgingly taking one of Chris’s cars, and she really missed having her _own_ set of wheels. As the flashier bikes with ribbons draped over them gave way to the more traditional styles, Y/N was pretty sure a corner of her heaven would look like this, but there was only one bike that gave her heart-eyes.

“Softail Heritage Classic,” the salesman announced. “Two-tone in what we call Twisted-Cherry.”

Y/N didn’t even let him rattle off the specs or the price before blurting, “I want it. Now, as in, this very minute. As in I’m paying cash and it will be mine.”

“You sure you don’t want to take it for a spin before--”

“Trust me – she knows her bikes. Just give the lady what she wants,” Quin interjected before spinning on a heel and gesturing toward the wall of jackets, helmets, and gloves. “And now, accessorize.”

Pumped full of entirely too much adrenaline, Y/N picked out the gear that spoke to her. Quin helped her carry her selections to be purchased, which was where the fun stopped and the seriousness began. There was paperwork involved, along with a call to the bank, and the matter of title, taxes, tabs, plates, and insurance. On the inside, she was a petulant child screaming, _‘Don’t care how - I want it now!’_ but on the outside, she was adult, and did what she had to do.

“You look like a sad, sad puppy,” Quin cooed as they climbed back into the car.

Y/N stuck her tongue out and crossed her arms over her chest, “I wanted instant gratification.”

He started the car and waggled his brows, “Sometimes delayed is better.”

“Should’ve told ‘em I’m Captain America’s girlfriend,” she pouted.

“Yeah, right. Not even for that bike would you name drop like that.”

“I know, but I have to wait a full week and get paperwork done and I’m _distraught_!”

“Are you sure you’re not just hangry?”

Never one to admit that food typically was the solution to everything and anything that ailed her, Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck her chin in the air. That only made Quin laugh even harder, but like the good friend he was, he drove them downtown, and they had lunch at their usual spot. Afterward, they meandered around, and stopped into a few wedding shops before Quin eventually prodded her into a store.

“I saw you eyeing the outfit in the window,” he said as he held the door open and shoved her inside. “Gooo, damn you.”

While clothes didn’t excite her as much as motorcycles, it was rather nice to be able to do more than just browse. Though she didn’t go crazy and walk out with a whole new wardrobe, she did buy enough to actually have some variety in her closet, along with a few, choice items she thought Chris would enjoy.

After hauling the purchases back to the car, Quin cajoled her into going to the salon. While she practically had an out-of-body experience just getting her hair washed, Quin also got a trim, and a pedicure. It was a day of pure self-indulgence, and when Quin helped her lug everything up to her apartment, he told her not to feel guilty.

“And don’t say you don’t feel guilty,” he said before she could even reply. “I can feel it coming off of you in waves as you unlock the door.”

Y/N sighed and deposited her things by the couch, “I honestly _don’t_ feel guilty. I mean, well, I do, but I also feel really lucky. And very nervous because in my life, the other shoe always inevitably drops.”

Quin sat the other bags down before taking her by the shoulders, “The other shoe isn’t going to drop, Y/N. Not this time – okay?”

She frowned slightly, but his insistence made her nod, albeit warily. While Quin retreated to use the bathroom, Y/N bent her knees slightly, and knocked on the wooden coffee table.

“Just in case,” she whispered to herself. “Just in fucking case…”


	26. Chapter 25: These Four Walls

**Chapter 25: These Four Walls**

There was a black t-shirt hanging in the closet and it wasn’t his.

Nothing else of Y/N’s in his house – just the shirt. The shirt he decided to make room for via clearing out everything from that section, including emptying the drawers and shoe racks that bookended it. It was now a wide, open mouth of unused space with one shirt in the middle of it. 

Just _one_ fucking t-shirt.

They’d spent Thanksgiving with his parents. Came back, got off the plane, and took separate taxis – she to her place, he to his. Y/N was back at work and so was he. It had only been a week, and really, he had plenty of shit to do, but he missed her. And missing her was good – that was part of loving someone and wanting to be with them – but the t-shirt transformed the feeling into something more _visceral_ than he’d expected.

Chris needed to take Dodger for a much-deserved walk, get the oil changed in his car, and start Christmas shopping. There were also photoshoots, interviews, and scripts to read. His parents wanted to know if he and Y/N were going to spend their first Christmas together in LA or come out to Boston. Mackie, Renner, and Stan had been asking whether or not he was going to the New Year’s Eve party at _The Dalliance_ , and he needed to give them an answer so they could make arrangements.

Instead of addressing that laundry-list, Chris was obsessing over the damn _fucking_ t-shirt in his _damn_ fucking closet. His siblings had pestered him about whether or not Y/N had moved in yet – mercifully, not in front of her – and now, it was all he could think about. Her apartment was her home. His four walls weren’t her four walls. They were in a good place and he didn’t want to ruin it. 

But Chris hated her little duffel bag, with its little case, and little travel-sized portions of shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, and toothpaste. He hated it because it meant he could only feel her when she was in the house, but never after she was gone. He hated it because Y/N never unpacked it, which meant she never left anything behind, not even a lost sock, wayward pair of panties, or a hair tie.

Only the shirt – forgotten by accident, not purposefully left.

Y/N had been on her own for a long time and really, save for Quin, was used to living and being alone. Though they had gotten more than used to being in each other’s space and enjoyed each other’s company, living together was something altogether different. They had already exchanged keys, but it wasn’t the same as calling his place her home. After everything she’d been through, he didn’t want her to feel pressured – even if the idea of her moving in was something his mind was already getting used to, it was a big decision, and he imagined she’d have reservations…

“What do you think?” he wondered at Dodger.

A slight head tilt and a huff, followed by perked ears and an excited tail wag. Seconds later, Dodger was on his feet and woofing. When Chris turned around, he saw the subject of his thoughts entering the bedroom. She had the damned duffel bag in one hand while she gave Dodger attention with the other, and soon as she tossed her things on the bed, she was down on the floor with the dog, riling him up, and giving him belly rubs.

Chris couldn’t help but grin as he ran a hand over his beard, “Hey, you.”

Y/N looked up and smiled, “Hey, yourself.”

“I thought you were working tonight?”

“You didn’t get my text?”

“I must’ve missed it.” 

Chris heard something about _The Dalliance_ and an emergency party committee meeting, but it got a bit muddled because even though he knew this wasn’t her home, she made herself at home. Shoes and jacket discarded, things moved to the floor to make room for her and Dodger to sprawl out and roughhouse on the bed. It looked right and it felt right.

“Did a bomb go off in there?”

He blinked and shook his head, “Sorry?”

Y/N pointed to the closet, and on reflex, he moved to stand in her line of sight so she couldn’t see it. In his effort to make room for her lone shirt, he’d thrown everything of his on the floor. He knew trying to hide it was a mistake, because Y/N immediately disengaged from Dodger, rolled off the end of the mattress, and got to her feet. The pup followed, but when attention wasn’t returned to him, he plopped down on the floor at their feet.

“What’s happening in there?” she asked as she craned her neck and stood on tip-toe.

Chris blocked her view with his shoulders, “Nothing.”

The squeak in his voice made her arch an eyebrow and demand entrance, which he firmly denied. She went on to ask if there was some sort of secret password or handshake, or if she would only be allowed admittance if she was naked. Y/N was good at coaxing out his smiles, but she must’ve sensed something else was on his mind, because her playfulness faded and her brow furrowed.

“What’s the matter?” she wondered softly.

He took a deep breath, let out slowly, and shook his head, “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Y/N smiled and placed her hands on his chest, “The wheels in your head are spinning, Chris, I can tell. So, just spit it out – you’ll feel better.”

After several minutes of feeling his stomach twist itself up in knots, Chris placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned down, and kissed her forehead.

“You know I love you,” he murmured. “And I’d never ask you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

“Is there some sort of kinky gobbledygook happening in that closet?”

“Actually, that would be a less stressful discussion,” Chris laughed as he hugged her tight.

She looked up and met his eyes, “So, if we’re not going to talk about hard and soft limits, then, why don’t you get to what’s really on your mind?”

He cleared his throat and held her gaze, “I want you to move in with me.”

There was a long pause before she said, _“Why?”_

The question wasn’t a test, but rather, a genuine curiosity. Chris’s siblings may have nagged him over it, but it wasn’t a topic he and Y/N had actually discussed. He did his best to explain and probably used more words than were necessary; tried to convey he didn’t want her to feel pressured to agree, or feel as if she were giving up her independence, or losing control when she’d just gotten it back. He wanted to be with her and he wanted to make this _their_ home and not just his home.

“This is the part where you say something,” Chris whispered as she slow-blinked at him.

“Is that what you _really_ want?” she asked quietly. “You’re not saying this because you think it’s some sort of next step you feel forced to take or because--”

“I think you know me well enough by now to know nobody forces me to do anything,” he interjected. “But the real question is – is this something _you_ also want?”

“I’ve never lived with anyone. I mean, I had roommates in college, but I never…”

Chris watched an imperceptible expression cross her face and it made his gut clench. He knew what she was thinking, even if she didn’t say it. In that moment, he wished he had the power to make those memories and everything she’d gone through hurt less, but he couldn’t. Y/N was who she was because of what she’d been through, and this was the woman he’d fallen in love with. Brave and undaunted, yet, so, so cautious…

“I don’t know if I can move in here with you,” she finally said in a solemn tone.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Chris pressed gently. “Are you not ready?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

Y/N sighed and let her forehead fall to his chest, “Your neighbors hate my motorcycle, okay? And if the bike can’t live here, I can’t live here. That’s one of _my_ hard limits.”

Out of all the possible objections Y/N could have made, that was the last one Chris had expected, because it really wasn’t an objection at all. When she looked up at him again, the expression on her face communicated she knew it, too, but clearly enjoyed tormenting him. Y/N must’ve also sensed the trouble she was in, because she giggled mischievously, and tried to escape his arms.

“You think you’re real fuckin’ cute, don’t you?” Chris growled, snagging her around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder.

She cackled and kicked her feet, “I’m adorable!”

“Try evil,” he muttered as he tossed her onto the bed and crawled over her.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Chris nudged her thighs apart with his knee and nipped her lower lip, “Evil incarnate.”

Another impish laugh, followed up by a kiss that made his blood race. Her mouth was searing and commanding -- potent, assertive, and damn-near bruising. Y/N’s hands moved greedily across his shoulders, down his back, and to his ass. Arching and writhing, pawing and grinding, her moans reverberated in his chest and turned off higher brain function.

Voracious and enticed, Chris tore his mouth away from hers, rose to his knees, and pulled his shirt up and over his head. While he hurried with his belt and pants, she got naked from the waist down, and helped push his boxers out of the way.

Heavy-lidded eyes, ripe mouth, and fingers wrapped around his erection. Black t-shirt, a replica of the one in the closet, somehow twisted up and over her cotton-covered breasts. The tip of her tongue pressed to her upper lip, Y/N stroked him, eyes downcast, and focused on the task at hand. She tilted her hips up, teased both him and herself, and slid him up, down, and around all that luscious rapture secreted between her legs. 

Y/N showed him just how wicked she could be as she toyed with him, made herself come, and then, guided him inside. No hesitation, just impatience, taking him to the hilt and letting out such a primal sound, it made his head spin. Tight, liquid fire, fluttering all around him, making him bury his face in the pillow next to her head and bite down hard.

“Take me like you mean it,” she breathed into his ear. “Fuck me, Chris.” 

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes; desire and love, mixed with a sinful challenge.

She’d let the devil out and was inviting him to come play.

And he was done for.

Her shirt didn’t survive long and neither did the bra. Though every sound she made and all the flitting expressions on her face conveyed pleasure, he still checked in, because he would never hurt her, not ever. With her back pressed to his chest and his fingers working over her clit, she told him it felt phenomenal; she hoped she couldn’t walk right for a week; she was coming, coming, coming; and don’t stop, not ever, don’t ever stop; _fuck me, damn it!_

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he snarled as he forced her down onto her hands and knees. “Can barely fuckin’ think… Fuck, Y/N…”

A long, drawn out _‘goooood,’_ followed by her pushing back against him and using the headboard for leverage. It was a marathon and a sprint combined, and by the race’s end, Chris had pinned her arms down on the mattress, Y/N’s upper body was dangling off the edge, and her leg was somehow wrapped around his neck.

Everything was drenched – their bodies, the sheets, the bed – and the only thing that prevented Y/N from falling onto the floor was his full weight, which he’d collapsed on top of her.

“Am I even alive?” he choked out.

She snickered and nudged his head with her knee, “And here I thought you Boston boys were made of sterner stuff.”

Chris grunted and gave her thigh a sharp bite, “You really _are_ the devil, aren’t you?”


	27. Chapter 26: Deck the Halls

**Chapter 26: Deck the Halls**

****

All of Y/N’s t-shirts were hung in the closet and her bike was displayed proudly in the driveway.

Every inch of the bed really belonged to Dodger, but she favored the left side, and there’d been no objection to that. The duffel bag and travel-sized toiletries were no longer needed. Photos of her parents were in frames around the house and keepsakes were carefully stored instead of hidden away.

They’d gone shopping. Went on dates and double-dates. Bought a Christmas tree and decorated it to their liking. Walked Dodger, cooked, and did laundry. Chris took a day for himself and went rock climbing; she went on a joyride alone and didn’t return until after sunset. Y/N invited Quin over and met his new coworkers; he bought a book he couldn’t put down and disappeared into the guest suite for an entire day. She looked over security plans and schedules for the New Year’s Eve party at _The Dalliance_ in the kitchen while Chris sat on the couch and read scripts.

Moving in with him both terrified and excited her. Things had changed, but also somehow managed to stay the same. Y/N didn’t wake up and miraculously adopt Chris’s way of living, and he didn’t alter his routine, either. He worked. She worked. _They_ worked.

The two weeks leading up to Christmas meant the club was closed, and instead of choosing between Boston and LA, they did both. The week before the holiday was spent in the snowy climate. Y/N met more of Chris’s family, ate what she suspected was her body weight in food, teared up over seeing a present with her name on it beneath the tree, and discovered sledding was a full-contact sport that required more skill than she possessed.

The week of Christmas, they were back in LA, and decided it would be easier to throw a party instead of trying to squeeze in visits around hectic schedules. The informal invitations were sent last minute, but that didn’t stop people from RSVPing. When the day finally came, it was chaotic -- caterers in and out, Dodger running full throttle and barking constantly, and Chris going back and forth to the store because he kept forgetting things. Y/N’s brain was on the verge of exploding when Chris returned from his third trip and said they needed to get ready.

Separate showers – because there wasn’t enough time and they knew better – and hustling to get dressed because the doorbell could ring any second. Chris put on deodorant, combed his hair, and looked like the damn movie star he was in casual slacks and a light blue button-down shirt. Y/N, on the other hand, sat on the dressing bench – _because those really existed? --_ still wrapped in a towel, and wondered what the hell she was doing. 

“Hey, you okay?”

She looked up at Chris and sighed, “What if we texted everyone and said the party’s cancelled? We can donate the food, store the booze, and stay in bed all day.”

His smirk suggested he liked the sound of it, but the doorbell rang, and made it officially too late. Chris kissed the pout from her lips, told her to get dressed, and to have her _“evil ass”_ in the living room in thirty minutes. The _“or else”_ was implied with a wink and a grin, followed by him hustling out of the bedroom to answer the door. 

Any other day, getting dressed would’ve been easy, but the task was harder this time, and not just because she wanted to look nice for Chris and his friends. She wanted to look nice for herself, too, and that took a different type of bravery.

The contents of the garment bag had been an impulse purchase that Chris, much to his dismay, had not been allowed to see. Y/N hadn’t really done her hair and make-up in some time, so, she kept it simple. Bra, underwear, and stockings were also no biggie, but putting the dress on? That was harder, and she knew she’d gone well past the thirty-minute time limit when there was a knock on the door, and Quin’s voice echoed through the air.

“I am the official search party,” he announced jovially. “I was _ordered_ to come find you and bring you out, or else there would be – _hell-oh_!”

Y/N turned from the mirror and grimaced, “Is it bad?”

A-line cuts always looked good and a Princess scoop neck-line was never inappropriate. Cocktail dresses were best for any occasion that wasn’t a formal one, and vintage-style lace was making a comeback. Since she was going to be on her feet for untold hours, heels were out of the question, but a pair of red ballerina flats with a gem buckle were a great way to add a pop of color, be elegant, and stay comfortable.

At least, that’s what the woman at the boutique had told her…

Quin sat down hard at the foot of the bed and his wide-eyed stare prompted her to turn back to the mirror. Maybe the red lipstick was too much? And a different color – something _other_ than black for once – might’ve been better. It was Christmas for fuck’s sake, and she wanted to look _pretty_ , not funeral-chic.

She huffed and reached for the zipper at the base of her neck, “I can change.”

“Don’t,” Quin choked out. 

Y/N turned to face him, “Are you – _crying?_ ”

“I have tinsel in my eye.”

“We don’t have any tinsel in the house.”

“Glitter, then.”

She laughed and plopped down beside him, “If you have to keep lying, I must look _really_ bad, huh?”

He looked up at the ceiling and cleared his throat, “You look regal. And _happier_ than… This is really going to be the best fucking Christmas we’ve… I’m so fucking...”

“I love you,” Y/N sighed as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “So much.”

A nudge and the smack of a kiss to the top of her head – that was how Quin chose to say he loved her back. He followed it up by squeezing her knee and insisting he needed a drink, and because she was the hostess, it was her duty to show him to the nearest bottle of something with a nice label and a name he couldn’t pronounce.

Once they were in the living room, and both she and Quin were armed with liquid courage, Y/N politely greeted those she’d met briefly at Chris’s housewarming party, and either nodded, waved, or introduced herself to those she hadn’t met. There were people milling in and out of the house, and everyone seemed to be having a good time, which helped alleviate some of the pressure.

Vic and her husband, Henry, were in attendance, and Y/N chatted with them and Quin in the kitchen for a time before she finally felt brave enough to step out onto the back patio where the bulk of the party was gathered. Sometime after the first round of meet-and-greets with the rest of the guests, Quin found her, and brought a plate of food to share. Vic soon joined them and they each took turns pouring wine and whispering about what they got their significant others for Christmas. Logan and Henry eventually made their way over, thanked Y/N for having them, and stole her cohorts away for a dance.

“Alright, Quantico,” Sebastian called out as he sauntered over, grabbed her hands, and pulled her to feet. “Time for you to make me look good.”

Y/N snorted, “Like you need help with that.”

“Was that a _compliment_?”

“Yes, Seb, it was,” she deadpanned. “Now, you’re obligated to compliment me back.”

“I will _not_ say how beautiful you look because I like my limbs attached to my body, thank you.”

“Well, I can’t fault you there. You do have _such_ pretty limbs, after all.”

He gasped and winked, “Two compliments? You’re going to make me blush.” 

They got through _Silver Bells_ and the first half of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ before Sebastian spoke again.

“You’re good for him, you know,” he declared earnestly. “This is the happiest I’ve seen Chris in -- I don’t know how long, to be honest.” 

She ducked her head, “Okay, now, you’re making _me_ blush.”

“The way he looks at you and talks about you -- it’s actually kind of gross now I think about it.”

“Well, you kinda set us up. So, whatever happens -- good, bad, or gross – it’s all on you, buddy.”

“I will not be blamed for his disgusting heart eyes,” he shot back playfully. “Nor yours, for that matter.” 

Their spirited banter was broken up with an apology from Logan, who informed her Margaret had arrived, and was asking to see her. Y/N excused herself from Sebastian and went to greet her boss, who thanked her for the invite, but said she couldn’t stay long. She and her husband were flying out to see family for the holidays and she only had time for a quick pop-in. 

“Oh, this was all last minute. You really didn’t need--”

“Nonsense,” she interjected. “Besides, I wanted to speak with you. May we talk inside?”

With the offer of a drink declined, Y/N guided Margaret into the living room. Once they were seated, Margaret explained she wouldn’t keep her long, but wanted to put something to her that couldn’t wait.

“What can I do to help?” Y/N asked. “Is something wrong with the plans for the end of year party?”

Margaret smiled and shook her head, “No, those are just fine. And to answer your question -- you can help by leaving _The Dalliance_ and coming to work for my firm as a recruiter and trainer.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, “I’m – w-what?”

“We’re growing and I need capable people to help me steer the ship,” she explained. “Your talents are being wasted, Y/N, and we both know it. You were _meant_ for more – you were meant to _do_ more. I’ve already informed Logan of my intentions and he has no objections.”

“I – um… I don’t know what to say,” Y/N murmured. “I don’t deserve – not after everything--”

Margaret held up a halting hand, “That has no bearing. You were promoted for a reason, Y/N. I leaned on you and pushed you because I was grooming you for this. You’ve _earned_ this.”

Still dumbstruck, all Y/N could do was stare and listen while Margaret retrieved a folder from her bag and briefly explained the paperwork inside. She wanted a decision by the new year so she could either try to find someone to fill the position, or hopefully, prep YN’s replacement at the club.

“My answer is yes,” Y/N finally managed to get out. “And thank you.” 

Margaret nodded and stood up, “Very good. We’ll work out details when I return.”

Y/N got to her feet as well and was surprised to be given a hug instead of a handshake. It was uncharacteristic, but when Margaret said she was proud of her and respected the hell out of her, the tears Y/N had managed to keep at bay finally fell. She swiped them away before her boss could see them, and after being told to enjoy her party, Margaret left.

Needing a few moments to compose herself, Y/N went into the bedroom, sat the folder on the nightstand, and dabbed her eyes. A trip to the bathroom to fix her make-up was in order, and she’d just finished freshening up her lipstick when she heard Chris call out her name.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Y/N walked out of the bathroom and nodded, “Just fixing my face.”

Chris ran a hand over his beard, stepped over the threshold, and shut the door. The sound of the lock being turned made her raise an eyebrow and ask him what he was up to.

“So, this is what you wouldn’t let me see?”

Y/N blushed and did a slow turn, “What do you think?” 

“I think I’d like to fuck you,” Chris replied bluntly. “Right fucking now.”

His words made her flush even hotter and prompted her to lift the hem of the dress. As soon as Chris saw the stockings, his eyes darkened, and he kept his gaze fixated on her as she knelt on all fours on the bed. Just hearing him undo his belt and unzip his pants had Y/N breathing hard, and his hands sliding up her legs and between her thighs made her arch into his touch.

“We have five minutes,” she panted as his fingers explored and aroused. “Before – _fuck_ – someone starts knocking.”

“Bet I can make you come in three,” Chris declared as he pushed her panties aside.

“Fucking do it, then,” Y/N challenged. “Or are you waiting for a hand carved invitation?”

His chuckle was purely masculine, as was his low warning of, _“oh, you’re fucking in for it now.”_

He made her come.

Twice.


	28. Chapter 27: Declined

**Chapter 27: Declined**

“Does that feel good?” Y/N crooned. 

He answered with incoherent, base noises that echoed off the bathroom walls. Every so often, there was a firm tug, followed by a light scratch of her nails, and the combination made his eyes roll back. Y/N was seated on a chair next to the tub, and had been washing his hair for about five minutes before she slowed, and came to a stop.

“Ready?”

Chris let out a relaxed breath and nodded slightly. A moment later, warm water was carefully sprayed over his upturned head. When she finished, he pouted, and she must’ve seen it, because she giggled lightly, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Y/N asked if he would like conditioner, too; Chris nodded eagerly and babbled more nonsense while she spoiled him and massaged his scalp.

Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone in a blur and this was the first real breather they’d had in months. After nearly a decade, Chris was flexing acting muscles that had been dormant for too long and Y/N had taken on a completely different career altogether. She’d also been seeing a therapist to help her process and cope with everything that had happened to her, and he, too, had started up sessions again. They were getting used to new schedules and routines, and though things were still a bit erratic, how they felt and cared for each other hadn’t changed a bit.

“There,” Y/N announced softly when she finished rinsing his hair. “Are you contented?”

Chris opened his eyes, looked up at her, and avowed, “I love you.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Join me and I’ll show you.”

“I’ll happily do just that, but _only_ if you tell me why you’re avoiding the topic of Quin’s bachelor party.”

“Counter offer – you get naked _first_ and we’ll talk _afterward_.”

She grinned and tapped him playfully on the nose, “You know neither of us is capable of coherent thought afterward.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to me,” Chris chuckled lightly.

“The party is in three days,” Y/N reminded him. “And I need an answer.”

He ran a hand over his beard and clenched his jaw; this was a discussion that could no longer be avoided and he knew it.

Logan and Quin were getting married the week before Valentine’s Day, while Chris had happily agreed to attend the wedding, he was apprehensive about the upcoming bachelor party. Instead of the stereotypical night of debauchery, Y/N had forgone the tradition, and decided to throw both Quin and Logan a joint party, which was to be held at a very public and well-known venue. 

The wedding itself was going to be a small, intimate affair, but the party was going to be a bash of epic proportions, and everyone was going to be there. Chris knew people were making special trips out to LA for this and that it was a big deal not just for Y/N, but for Quin and Logan as well. Y/N’s best friend in the world was getting married and she wanted to celebrate the happy couple, but Chris couldn’t help but have reservations.

The venue she’d chosen was logistically smart – the party was private and invitation-only, and the firm had just taken them on as clients, which meant security could be trusted. However, the place was frequented by Hollywood stars, and with the names on the guest list, along with Logan’s status and connections _,_ there would inevitably be a lot of press, and _that_ was what concerned him.

Quin and Logan were relatively private individuals who liked to flirt and skirt around the edges of the lifestyle. Chris and Y/N, on the other hand, were actually _in_ it, and they’d only just gotten to a point where they didn’t flinch when the doorbell or one of their phones rang. Stories of her ex still circulated, but Vic and his publicist had either fielded questions or managed to keep Y/N’s name out of it. Chris also kept talk of their relationship to a minimum during interviews and his family remained mum as well.

What mattered to him, what he valued most, was what he and Y/N had built together. Their life, their love, their privacy – it was something he wanted to fiercely protect, and on this particular occasion, it meant being a party-pooper.

“I don’t think I should go,” Chris finally admitted.

“Because you don’t want to?”

“No, that’s not it – I do want to be there, I really do.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

He explained and tried to keep it brief, but the more her expression closed up, the more Chris felt as if he’d dug himself into a hole. Being in a tub full of cold water didn’t help with the discomfort, either, and when he tried to suggest they talk about it later, Y/N’s gaze hardened, and that chilled him even more.

“Okay,” she bit out as she stood up. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”

Chris cursed and felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He quickly got out, finished washing up in the shower, dried, and dressed. When he stepped into the living room, Y/N was pacing, but stopped when she saw him, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This isn’t just some dumb party. Quin’s getting married and he’s _family_. This is _important_ , Chris.”

“I know it’s important.”

“No, I don’t think… You _don’t_ get it,” she retorted. “We know there’s always the possibility someone will shove a camera in our faces or make up stories. But why is dealing with paparazzi acceptable when it’s about _you_ and _your_ family, but it’s too ‘risky’ when it comes to me and mine?”

“That’s _not_ fair and that is _not_ what I said,” he bit out angrily. “It’s not _The Dalliance_ – they won’t be checking phones at the door. And you know all it takes is _one_ photo or recording, and they’ll be back to being camped out in our driveway again.”

“When you’re safe and behind closed doors, everything is perfect, but out there _– in the real world_ – it’s a fucking mess, Chris!” she shot back just as hotly. “Every appeal, every interview his family gives… Any time you go on a talk show or we fly out to Boston… It’s not something I can hide from – it’s not something _we_ can hide from.”

He huffed and threw up his hands, “What do you to do, then? You want to start sharing our life with the world? Let them circle us and pick us apart like fucking vultures?”

“Look, they’ve already done that, and you’re _still_ America’s golden boy. But me? Well, I’m something _else_ , aren’t I? Today, I’m a gold-digger; tomorrow, who knows what I’ll be?”

Chris saw how she flinched at her own words and it made his stomach drop. Y/N had been used as cannon-fodder; pegged both a dupe and a harpy, and most recently, described as the type of woman who was out for both blood any money. They wondered why he was with her, speculated about her intentions with him, and neither of them dignified it with a response.

Being in the spotlight willingly was one thing, but what Y/N had been forced to endure? It had traumatized her and it was something they were dealing with separately _and_ as a couple. Y/N’s eyes had been wide open to the harsh realities of the world for a long, long time, but she was slowly healing, _they_ were slowly healing, and he didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.

Their relationship wasn’t a secret, but it was _their_ relationship – it _belonged_ to _them_ \-- and part of him knew it was selfish, but he wanted it to stay that way. People would always speculate and make assumptions, and that was par for the course, but he didn’t want to feed into it.

Yet, even with all his rationalizing, it really all came down to one thing: he was scared, and this was one fear Chris wasn’t sure he could run toward because it wasn’t just about him. They were in this _together_ , and he was _afraid_ they’d lose each other -- that if they went public in a big way, he would stop seeing _her_ , and start seeing shadows in every corner.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly. 

Chris hung his head, “That I want you to be happy.”

Y/N cleared her throat harshly, “I know that, Chris, and I _am_ happy. I just – I’m trying to understand why you’re so worried about this?”

“I worry because I love you. I love you so much that sometimes, I can’t even breathe or think straight,” he answered lowly. “And what we have is _ours_. I’m not -- I _won’t_ let them twist it. I won’t share the part of me that is you. They can’t have it because it’s fucking _mine_.” 

“Chris, I’m not asking you to do that. I want you to share this with me – not them, _me.”_

He met her gaze and smiled ruefully, “But it wouldn’t just be me and you, would it?”

“I’m not going to let them or anyone else dictate my life. I’ve been there and done that, and I’m not going back again,” she asserted shakily. “But I’m not going to push you into doing something you don’t want to do or that you’re not ready for. I’d _never_ do that to you.”

Even though he was relieved to know Y/N understood where he was coming from, Chris could sense her disappointment, and that tore him up even more. He knew she wouldn’t press him further, and he could tell she was no longer angry about it, but the dejection and resignation in her eyes was indescribably painful to see.

This had hurt her and that was the last thing he’d ever intended to do.

The buzzing of Y/N’s cellphone cut through the tense silence, and when she retrieved it from her back pocket, she cleared her throat again, and let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, you!” she greeted. “No, no, I’m fine. _Really?_ For your honeymoon? Oh, who gives a shit about the view – you’re going to be spending the entire time in bed anyway, right?”

After a brief discussion and reassurances that she had everything under control for the party, Y/N ended the call, and shot off a text. The rapid blinking and repetitive swallowing meant she was fighting tears, and when Chris reached for her, Y/N stepped back, and shook her head.

“I let the coordinator know you won’t be attending,” she stated thinly. “I’ve got some errands to run and I’ll pick up Dodger from the groomers on the way back.”

Chris immediately stepped forward, “Y/N, don’t leave – we can still talk about this.”

Y/N whispered, _“there’s nothing more to say,”_ stepped out, and shut the door behind her. 


	29. Chapter 28: Huzzah!

**Chapter 28: Huzzah!**

Since Y/N’s departure from _The Dalliance_ , there’d been a dynamic shift between her and Logan.

As soon as she stopped being his employee, he called her, and invited her to dinner. He said, _“You’re my fiancé’s best friend and I want to get to know the **real** you,”_ and though the invitation had surprised her, she’d accepted. Since then, she, Quin, and Logan had been thick as thieves, and now, that meant Y/N got tag-teamed whenever they were displeased.

Quin narrowed his eyes, “So, he’s _really_ not coming?”

Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his cufflinks, “Is he backing out of the wedding, too?”

“Stop it,” she warned. “ _Both_ of you.”

They put their hands up in mirrored gestures of surrender and their disappointed faces made her grit her teeth. Despite Chris’s protests and his _well-noted_ absence, the double bachelor party had been the right call. Between Quin and Logan, there were a lot of friends, acquaintances, connections, and co-workers; nearly everyone invited had turned up, and their hosts had truly outdone themselves.

A hand-picked, tighter-than-a-drum security team who ensured the guestlist was adhered to, and a keen staff who anticipated every need. A truly decadent lounge with banquettes; dimmed lights and gold walls; a courtyard area with stunning overhead views; lovely artwork displayed tastefully on every wall. There were plenty of places to mingle and dance, or sit and relax, and an elaborately decorated buffet down the center of the room offered an assortment of delicious food easily consumed on the move or at one of the many available tables.

Nothing was too good for Quin and Logan and that meant everything was top-shelf; from the beats to the eats, Y/N made sure their whims were catered to. She even had a bottle of their favorite bubbly chilled, and after she poured each of them a glass, she served one to herself.

“Drink and be merry,” Y/N insisted as they toasted. 

The champagne and consistent stream of well-wishes from other guests diverted their attention, and after a while, she could practically feel the happiness they radiated from the other side of the booth.

Logan’s hand was wrapped around Quin’s upper arm and he whispered something meant only for his soon-to-be-husband’s ear. Quin leaned in to listen and a secretive smile immediately bloomed on his face. She wasn’t sure who said they’d be back and it didn’t matter; Y/N knew what they were headed off to do, but before Logan could drag him away, Quin leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“You’re the best,” he asserted.

“That’s true,” Logan agreed.

Y/N smiled and waved them off, “Get away from me, you horny, lovesick fools.”

Logan stuck his tongue out and Quin flipped her the bird as they retreated. A waitress came by a moment later and asked if she needed anything, and once Y/N was served something with a bit more bite, she sat back, and nursed the obscenely expensive bourbon. The liquid courage helped her feel ready to play her role as “best woman” again, but before she could get back to it, Jeremy appeared, and gestured toward the space next to her.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all.”

“Another?” he asked with a nod toward the tumbler.

Y/N knocked back what little remained in her glass and nodded, “Why not?”

They’d gotten about halfway through their respective beverages when Jeremy suddenly apologized for everything that had gone down at _The Dalliance_ ; he felt guilty about his behavior and what happened, and hadn’t known how to approach her about it. Y/N freely and completely absolved him of any wrongdoing, and told him she was actually grateful, because it really had changed her life for the better.

With the tension dispelled, conversation easily flowed; they chatted about his house renovating business and her new job; then, they turned to heavier subjects, like the woman he’d just started dating, which prompted him to ask how she and Chris were doing. When she side-eyed him, Jeremy chuckled, and reached for his drink.

“Let me guess – he’s not here because got all wrapped up in his head about something, you two had a bit of an argument about it, and now, things are tense?” 

Y/N snorted and nodded, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“I know for a fact Chris is not going to let _anything,_ let alone some petty squabble, come between the two of you,” Jeremy remarked seriously. “You love each other so, hold onto it. Hold onto it as hard as you can and let go of the rest, because all that other bullshit is just nonsense and noise.”

She sighed and readied herself to reply, but was cut off when Sebastian appeared with Anthony in tow. They asked to join in and the conversation was changed to more pleasant things. Soon, there were even more drinks, and they were all laughing and bellowing over each other. It wasn’t until the event coordinator appeared an hour later that Y/N realized she’d gotten too distracted from her duties; she had a speech to make and being reminded of it immediately gave her the hiccups.

“Tipsy, are we?” Sebastian smirked.

She hiccupped again, “I’m nervous.”

They all cackled, but it was Jeremy who got her a glass of water, and Anthony who helped her out of the booth. Once the DJ called the party to order, Quin and Logan were shuffled to the center of the room, and Y/N was handed a mic. So many eyes focused on her made all that fine whiskey churn in her stomach, but when she spotted Sebastian making faces at her, his silliness helped steel her nerves.

Short, sweet, and to the point, Y/N told Quin he was her best friend, the brother she wished she’d had growing up, and that he deserved the world. Then, she addressed Logan, and told him he was one extremely, _extremely_ fortunate man, and begged him not to fuck it up. There was a lot of applause, chuckling, and deafening wolf-whistles when Logan and Quin kissed, and after she instructed everyone to get back to partying, Y/N returned the mic, and went to the happy couple.

“I have _one_ more surprise,” she announced. 

Quin arched an eyebrow, “What did you do?”

Y/N grinned cheekily, “I may have booked you both a suite at the Beverly Wilshire.”

When two sets of eyes went wide with shock, she knew she’d nailed the wedding gift. Y/N explained once the party was over, a limo and a Presidential Suite would be at their disposal, and they’d have all the bells and whistles until they flew out for their honeymoon. They both sniffled quite a bit before they pulled her into a hug, and when they released her, she also wiped her eyes.

“Alright, you two. Go mingle, get drunk, whatever. Just have fun, okay?”

As soon as they were off, Y/N checked in with security, and looked in on as many of the other guests as possible. The staff was so dedicated, there wasn’t a single thing for her to do, so, she grabbed some food, snagged another glass of mind-numbing juice, and retreated to the patio.

Even though she was supposed to be celebrating and having a good time, Y/N couldn’t help but be preoccupied. When she really thought about it, Jeremy had been right – it really was all nonsense and noise – but then again, it had been more than just a “ _bit of an argument_.”

They’d had a fight and it had been brutal. Chris hadn’t liked that she’d walked away from him; Y/N hadn’t liked being told what she could and couldn’t do; he thought she was being reckless and short-sighted; she thought he was being overbearing and cowardly. No middle ground, no quarter given, and much to Dodger’s dismay, she and Chris had been sleeping in separate rooms ever since.

Even though she was still angry, Y/N _missed_ him, and it _pained_ her. It started off as a dull ache, but over a period of days, it had festered; now, it just fucking _hurt_ , and while getting wasted at her best friend’s bachelor party wasn’t exactly a wise remedy, it would have to do.

“Hey, Quantico! Look who’s here!”

Prompted by Sebastian’s levity, Y/N turned her gaze away from the view, and back toward the party. His cheerful face was revealed first, followed by Chris’s, and all it took was one glimpse at his darkened expression to know he was in a mood. His name wasn’t on the guest list, but a glance at her phone showed a text from the head of security that informed her Quin and Logan had given permission. 

She sighed and gave him a onceover; sneakers, dark blue jeans, and a white t-shirt – he hadn’t dressed for the occasion, and that meant he’d come on impulse. Chris offered no greeting or explanation, and the blatantly obvious tension between them made Sebastian cut and run. Y/N didn’t say anything as she brushed past him, but the crush of the crowd prevented her from losing him, and Chris’s doggedness was a clear message: they were going to have it out and he wasn’t going to let her avoid him this time. 

There was only one room that offered privacy and it had been reserved for guest’s personal items and the wedding gifts. It was an ostentatious combination of a coat room and sitting room, and the guard who manned the door didn’t hesitate to hand over the keycard and station himself elsewhere.

As soon as they were alone, Chris crowded her, and glared down at her with eyes that burned just as hot as the rage that had twisted her guts in knots. Unwilling to ruin her best friend’s party, Y/N tamped it down, leaned back against the door, jutted her chin, and unflinchingly met gaze. 

Love, lust, agony, ire, silent apology, and contrition -- all compressed and conveyed with a single look in a solitary heartbeat, and like a Molotov cocktail, it exploded.

Chris wrested and asserted control with a ruthless kiss that bruised, invaded, and claimed. When Y/N responded with just as much passion, he made a noise that served as a warning, hiked up her skirt, and kicked her feet apart.

Panties roughly yanked aside, salacious and unmerciful, he didn’t tease; he crooked his fingers and ground the heel of his hand against her clit, and when the first orgasm hit, it was so sharp, it made her whimper around his tongue. Chris had her feeling more buzzed than the whiskey ever could, and when she came again, he let out a lewd sound of masculine satisfaction and approval. Harsh bites and soothing lips down her chin, along her neck, and up to her ear. 

“ _Never_ walk away from me again,” he growled. “And don’t _ever_ leave our bed again.”

Whatever Y/N might’ve said was cut off when Chris abruptly went to his knees, pulled her underwear down past her ankles, and buried his face between her thighs. Between laves and suckles, raw, bold, muffled confessions sinfully spilled out from his mouth: n _eed this – need you – fuck -- you’re mine – **this** is mine – fucking **mine**._

Pants around his calves and her legs hooked around his waist. Hands pinned above her head and high heels that precariously dangled from her toes until they clattered to the floor. Sharp snaps and rolls of his hips that choked the air from her lungs with every surge and retreat. Avid, feral kisses that were wanton, vulnerable, and frenzied.

It deepened, tightened, compounded. Rattled teeth and bones and nerves until they _thankfully_ , blessedly broke. Blissed out and utterly relieved, the rift was repaired, and replaced with quiet reassurances. Soft looks, tender touches, and whispered words as they righted themselves. Nonsense and noise -- it would always be there, but instead of turning on each other, they’d face it together. 

“Are we okay?” he wondered jokingly. “Or you plan on calling security?”

Y/N pursed her lips, “Don’t push it.”

Chris grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Well, I’m warning you – I won’t leave willingly.”

Though Chris’s tone was light and playful, she could tell he meant it, and he proved it by staying by her side and celebrating with her, Quin, and Logan for the rest of the night. 


	30. Chapter 29: Unbreakable

**Chapter 29: Unbreakable**

Touches of gold against a white backdrop, with mirrored pedestals, and candles that glowed warmly. A sweetheart head table adorned with white calla lilies and whimsical greenery. Welcome bags with assorted mini bottles of champagne, boxes of custom-made chocolate, and a classy hangover kit. Ambiance accentuated with delicious food, remarkably good company, and a live band that made any request sound phenomenal.

Quin and Logan’s wedding had been beautiful, Y/N had looked positively stunning in her satin and velvet tory navy-blue suit, and the sensual ways they’d used his matching tie when they got home? He’d _definitely_ enjoyed _every, single moment_ of that. Chris absolutely hated that they’d argued, but he couldn’t deny the overdue talk, and the multiple rounds of makeup sex, had been equally liberating and cathartic.

With the anger dissipated, they were back on the same page, and had reached an understanding. While neither of them could control the actions of others, they were the ones in charge of the life they’d made together, and agreed as long as they continued to listen to each other, and put their relationship first, everything else could and would be taken in stride.

Waking up the following morning to Y/N and Dodger cuddled up on either side of him hadn’t just made Chris feel better – it had made him feel whole again. They’d been through a lot, had their love and mettle tested in so many ways, but they’d always come through it, and were stronger for it. Having Y/N in his life just _felt_ _right_ , and when he realized he wanted that feeling to last forever, it put everything into perspective, and caused a series of life-changing events. 

A few days later, Quin and Logan tagged him in a handful of wedding photos; instead of being filled with dread, he selected one of he and Y/N together, and shared it. It was a small step – one he knew they’d both be comfortable with – and when Chris showed her what he’d done, she’d looked at him with such love and pride, he’d been compelled to take her to bed. 

After he sent Y/N off to work with a serene smile on her face, he called his parents and siblings in turn, and told them she was the one. She’d found him, uncovered him, burrowed into him, and he _belonged_ to her. Telling his family that he planned on being with Y/N for the rest of his life had been easy, but the discussion he’d had with Vic shortly thereafter had been awkward, and a hell of a lot harder.

With what had happened to Y/N’s parents, and everything she’d been through, Chris wanted to make sure she was safe and taken care of, no matter what the future brought. Vic had gone over many options with him, but ultimately, she believed the best solution was a prenup, as it would protect both them, their assets, and any children they might have. It wasn’t a romantic discussion, and Chris knew he’d put the cart before the horse, but Vic insisted having the conversation beforehand meant he was doing right by Y/N, and firmly believed his soon-to-be fiancé would see it that way as well.

After he instructed Vic to discreetly get things in motion, he hung up, put in a call to C _artier,_ and booked a meeting with a jeweler. Chris poured over every, single detail of the design until perfection had been achieved in the form of a ring with a flawless radiant cut diamond, vintage tapered platinum setting, and matching band. It arrived just in time for Valentine’s Day, and as soon as Y/N headed off to work that morning, he dropped Dodger off at a sitter, and got everything ready.

Chris created a trail that lead from the front door to their bedroom, but he didn’t use flower petals or candles – instead, he used things he knew would spark memories and set the mood.

A copy of the menu from the Mexican restaurant Y/N favored, with a circle around the meal she’d shared with him the night both their best friends had conspired to bring them together. His NASA hat and her old riding gloves – a throwback to her birthday, the joyride, and their first kiss. The purple dress Y/N had worn when she confessed everything about her past to him, and the navy-blue sweater he’d had on the night they made love for the first time.

Chris went flirtatious with a bag of Y/N’s favorite chips, overtly suggestive with one of her black t-shirts, and downright lewd with the red, ballet flats. The Christmas lights they’d bought together were strung up around the bedroom, and though he wasn’t a chef by any means, he knew Y/N would get a kick out of the assorted breakfast pastries and large bottles of water.

Anticipation thrummed so heavily through Chris’s veins that even a hot shower didn’t calm him down, and the closer it came time for Y/N to get home, the more excited he became. He’d been pacing by the bed, with the ring burning a hole in his pocket, when he finally heard the front door open.

There was a long pause, followed by, _“what the fuck?”_ After that came laughter, mixed with a few other indelicate words, and then, Y/N finally appeared at the threshold. Her eyes danced around the room for a minute before she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You’re so fucking cute,” she murmured up at him. “And I love you.”

The soft kiss was supposed to be a prelude to the proposal, but the little noise Y/N made in the back of her throat did things to his brain, and it went from gentle to searing in seconds. Within moments, hands started to wander, and when Y/N trailed her lips down his chin, and grazed her teeth along the stubble on his jaw, he couldn’t help but groan.

“You know I can’t think when you do that,” he growled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely not,” Chris admitted. “But I want to ask you something first.”

She palmed his erection and stroked slowly, “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

Y/N gave him another hard, deep kiss before she rucked up his shirt, and as soon as it was off and out of her way, she worked open his jeans, and pushed both pants and boxers past his hips. A soft command from her was all it took to get him to sit down on the bed, and Chris held both his tongue and his breath as he watched her sink to her knees, and take him into her mouth.

The lights twinkled and revealed a glint in her gaze that bespoke of the same, all-consuming possessiveness he himself had experienced. Hollowed cheeks and swirled tongue; swollen lips and wet heat; one hand that caressed and fondled while the other wrapped tight around the base of him. With every flick and suck, she said, _“This **belongs** to me. **You** belong to **me**.”_

Y/N worked her throat all around him, stared him right in the eye while she did it, and made it both too erotic to watch or look away from. Dazed and drowned in pleasure, she made his spine bow, and his head tip back. Chris got lost in her, in the havoc Y/N wreaked, and he gave himself over. He surrendered everything – his heart, his soul, his body, his free will – it was all hers because he was all hers, and within minutes, he was chanting her name like a damn prayer. Even though she was the one kneeling before him, he was the one who begged, and Y/N held him on that delicate, precarious, delirious ledge until he was shaking. 

“ _Fuck,_ Y/N,” Chris snarled out between clenched teeth. “Y/N, please, please, _fuck_ …”

She released him languidly lifted her head, “Tell me what you want.”

Unable to formulate a coherent response, he let out a ragged breath, and crooked his finger. Y/N got to her feet, and he stared through heavy-lidded eyes as she undressed. She was unabashed in her nakedness, he was shameless in his desire, and when Y/N placed her hands on his shoulders and straddled his lap, Chris greedily and reverently ran his hands over every inch of skin he could reach.

An unhurried, slick descent, punctuated by hoarse sounds of carnality, muffled and swallowed down with parted lips and sliding tongues. An ache eased with hands and mouths and a steady roll and grind through a haze of ecstasy. Whisper soft, but so, so urgent, like a secret shared between them, never to be told to another soul. 

As his fingertips swirled over her clit, he listened and observed, and she wordlessly spilled her intimacies. With hitched breaths, Y/N conveyed how good it felt; subtle nods told him _right there,_ _just like that_ ; the repetitive flutter and clench let him know not to stop, because he’d hit the spot, and she was _close_. Chris waited for it, hung on by a thread for it, and when that tell-tale look of pure, unadulterated bliss blossomed, he knew she’d gotten hers.

“ _Damn_ , Y/N, you’re beautiful,” he panted into the crook of her neck.

“Come for me,” she breathed into his ear. “Come for me right now, Chris.”

Buried deep and flying high, it was a demand willingly obeyed; he shattered and splintered apart, but was held together by her arms, and the orgasm was so intense, he trembled. A few minutes later, they were sprawled out on their stomachs in the middle of the bed, and Chris was tracing heart-shaped patterns across her shoulders. 

“I love you,” he sighed.

Y/N giggled and waggled her eyebrows, “Yeah? How much?”

“Enough to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

A series of emotions flickered across her face and he caught every, single one of them. Rapid blinking meant the statement had both surprised and perplexed; furrowed brow marked confusion; parted lips as the realization of the question he’d wanted to ask set in. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined it, but it didn’t matter, because again, it just felt right.

He sat up and retrieved the ring from the pocket of his jeans. The box creaked slightly as it was opened, and when Chris showed it to Y/N, she let out a startled laugh, and buried her face in her hands. He laid back down next to her pressed his lips to her ear.

“Will you marry me?” he murmured.

Y/N lifted her head and the smile she graced him with was heart-stopping. Her warbled, _“yes, Chris,”_ was the answer he needed, and when he gently took her hand and placed the ring on her finger, the tears in her eyes prompted his own. This time, the kiss was as warm and gentle as the proposal, and his heart pounded with joy. 

“I love you,” Y/N sniffled. “And I’m sorry for ruining your proposal with my shenanigans.”

Chris chuckled and pulled her into his arms, “You didn’t ruin anything. But just so you know, I did have an entire, romantic evening planned.”

“Well, just so _you_ know, I didn’t. I was just going to put on something sexy and screw your brains out.”

“I prefer you naked.”

“I bet if you saw what I was going to wear, you’d change your mind.”

“I doubt it.”

She smirked and jutted her chin toward the closet, “Top right drawer.”

Chris accepted the challenge for what it was, got up, and went to see for himself. He expected to find something racy, maybe even raunchy, but what had been revealed was much more tantalizing, and _nothing_ he could’ve prepared for.

They’d had a _bit_ too much fun with the tie she’d gotten him – in fact, it had been ruined it beyond recognition. And Y/N hadn’t just replaced it – she’d filled a whole damn drawer with carbon copies, all of which were lined up in perfectly neat little rows. Without hesitation, Chris grabbed two of them, shut the drawer, and went back into the bedroom.

He found Y/N sitting primly on the bed eating a pastry, and when she finished, he retrieved one of the waters, and handed it to her. Chris reminded her just _how important_ it was to stay hydrated, which prompted her to grin, and polish off the whole bottle. 

“May I ask what my future husband intends?” she wondered breathily.

“I intend to show my future wife just how _stern_ a Boston boy can be,” Chris answered as he unfurled the ties. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

Y/N laughed and settled back against the pillows, “We’re so gonna piss of the neighbors again.”

He licked his lips and trailed one of the ties along her thigh, “Eh, fuck the neighbors.”


	31. Chapter 30: Tie the Knot

**Chapter 30: Tie the Knot**

_Eighteen Months Later…_

After their engagement had been officially announced, Y/N underwent what she not-so-affectionally called “PR Bootcamp,” and to say Vic and Chris’s publicist had put her through the wringer was an absolute understatement. 

Y/N had learned the art of maintaining a pleasant, albeit blank expression, but there was a steep learning curve when it came to interacting with the paparazzi, smiling for untold hours without looking constipated, and answering questions without _actually_ answering them. They’d practiced for six months before she and Chris ever made their first public appearance together, and after it had been deemed to have “gone well,” magazine photoshoots were scheduled and additional interviews got penciled in.

After the press got their pounds of flesh, the date was set, and things moved quickly. A venue and officiate were chosen; catering menu and cake selected; photographers, drivers, and DJ hired. Invitations went out, RSVP’s came in, and blocks of rooms were booked at various hotels to accommodate over three-hundred guests. Fittings followed by more fittings, a wedding shower, and a rehearsal dinner. Chris’s friends and brother took him out and got him wasted; his sisters and her friends did the same with her.

When the morning of the wedding dawned, Y/N didn’t have cold feet or a hangover – if anything, she’d felt giddy and excited. Quin, Logan, Vic, Margaret, Carly, and Shanna had been on hand to help her get ready, but when Chris’s mom brought out the dress, happiness faded, and profound sadness crept in.

Y/N thought of her own mother and how it should’ve been _her_ who helped do up the buttons make sure the train wasn’t mucked up. Then, she thought about her dad, and how it should have been _his_ right, honor, and privilege to escort her down the aisle. Her parents would never know her husband; never wish them life-long happiness; never meet their grandchildren...

The tears had quickly turned into sobs, and Y/N had spent the better part of an hour cradled Quin’s lap, where she alternated between taking sips of liquor from Logan’s flask, getting her makeup redone, and having her hand held by everyone who had become the family she’d lost.

Quin was her best man _and_ the one who proudly gave her away. The wedding itself had gone by in a blur of barely-checked tears and laughter. Dodger played ring bearer; vows were exchanged, “ _I do’s,”_ said; then, they were no longer _future husband_ and _future wife_ \-- they were Mr. and Mrs. Evans.

His big, Italian family, her make-shift, rag-tag team of personal heroes and misfits, and their combined friends – somehow, it all made sense, and the reception had been one hell of a party. By the end of the night, Y/N’s face and feet ached from all the dancing, laughing, and smiling.

The limo dropped them off at the Mandarin Oriental in Boston, where they were greeted by a personal Concierge, who had seen their belongings safely secured in the Presidential Suite. After being assured the staff was at their command, there was a brief elevator ride, and a short walk down a tastefully decorated hallway. For the first time in eighteen months, there was nothing pressing they had to do, and for the first time in well over twenty-four hours, they were finally, _finally_ alone at last.

Y/N made it perhaps three steps over the threshold before Chris swept her up into his arms. His low chuckle echoed her squeal of surprise, and when they reached the bedroom, he stopped at the foot of the bed, set her on her feet, and pressed a slow, deep, tender kiss to her mouth.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered against his lips. 

“And I love you,” he rasped.

She grinned and looked up into his eyes, “Yeah? How much?” 

Chris laughed and ran a hand down her spine, “Enough to help you out of this fuckin’ dress.”

“Well, that is _very_ kind of you. And _really_ fuckin’ self-serving.”

The way he quirked his brow and raised his chin made her stick her tongue out at him, which prompted him to kiss her again until her knees were knocking and they were both breathing hard.

“Okay, okay,” she groaned against his neck. “Get me out of this fuckin’ dress.”

If Chris was impatient, he didn’t show it; in fact, he seemed to rather enjoy the painstaking task of undoing each button. Once the dress was loosened, he helped her step out of it, and took it upon himself to hang it up in the wardrobe. From there, they took turns peeling away layers, until each article of wedding garb was removed, and only the jewelry he’d gotten her for the occasion and the garter she’d had made out of one of their favored ties remained.

Wrapped in his arms, with her back pressed to his chest, Y/N closed her eyes, and let out a contented sigh. Chris didn’t ask if she was okay and she didn’t want him to; he always seemed to know when she just _needed_ to be held, and within minutes, she’d fully relaxed into his embrace.

“Tired?” he asked softly.

Y/N squeezed his hand and shook her head, “No.”

“Hungry?”

“Not for food.”

“Bed or jacuzzi?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

He took some time to consider, and while he mulled it over, his touch wandered. Feather-light, yet strong, it was a contrast that conveyed both the reverence and desire he had for her. Lips ghosted along the back and crook of her neck, while fingertips trailed lazily down her throat and across her collar bone. Y/N dug her teeth into her lower lip when he palmed one of her breasts, shuddered when he nibbled on her earlobe, and gasped when he pulled at the garter and let it snap back against her thigh.

The sting was soothed with a caress of his hand and the sensation of his wedding band sliding along her skin for the first time made her eyes flutter. Chris teased her to the point of delirium, made her burn hotter than the fireplace that warmed the room, and it wasn’t until she whimpered his name that he announced his decision.

“Bed first,” he rasped in her ear. “Then, jacuzzi.”

Y/N let out a ragged breath and guided his hand between her legs, “Sounds like a plan to me, husband.”

Chris groaned and grazed his fingertips over her clit, “Say it again.”

“Husband,” she purred as she widened her stance. 

“Again,” he demanded as sank two fingers deep into her core.

“H-hmmm - _\- fuck_ – _husband.”_

It didn’t take long before impatience eventually got the better of both of them. Y/N had one foot propped up on the mattress and they both had their left hands curled around one of the bedposts. They were still standing at the foot of the bed when Chris sank into her from behind, and though Y/N’s legs threatened to give out with the first thrust alone, he held her upright, and threw out a tantalizing wager.

“If I make you come three times, you have to call me husband during our entire honeymoon.”

Y/N giggled and squeezed herself around his erection, “And if I make you come first?”

Chris bit down on her shoulder and rolled his hips, “I’ll buy you that _fuckin’_ motorcycle you’ve been eyeing for the past six months.”

“Oooo, challenge _fuckin’_ accepted.”

The first one was bound to happen quickly – after all, he’d worked her up until she couldn’t see straight and had been all but begging for it. The second orgasm Chris wrung from her body was because he kept doing that damn thing with his hips that drove her absolutely insane. The third one – Y/N stubbornly held onto it, absolutely _refused_ to give it up, and that’s when he decided to play dirty.

“Y/N, my love, my heart, my gorgeous, sexy, wife,” he growled as he punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust. “You gonna fuckin’ come for me, or do I need to be _stern_ with you?”

The question was utterly sinful and purely rhetorical; the dirtier he talked, the more pronounced his Boston accent became, and as the heat pooled and the coil tightened, Y/N decided two could play that game. She turned her head, kissed him hungrily, and moaned the word _husband_ over and over again around his tongue. When Chris’s controlled movements started to become erratic, Y/N smiled, and pushed back against him.

“Yes, that’s it,” she coaxed playfully. “That’s it, husband. Come on. Just let go for me.”

It could’ve been the way his voice sounded when he whispered her name and said, “ _I love you.”_ Or how he looked at her with eyes full of both adoration and lust. Perhaps it was the feel of his hands that both protected and pleasured; the taste of his kiss; the scent of his skin…

Maybe it was the combination of absolutely every breath and moment, because that’s what made them who they were as individuals and as a couple. It’s what saw them through every joy and sorrow. It’s what guided them through the darkness and prevented them from losing each other.

It’s what allowed them to laugh, cry, and argue together. It’s what got them through sickness, health, good days, and shitty days together. It was what had brought them together, kept them together, and why they’d chosen to get married and be together forever. 

Ultimately, irrevocably, unflinchingly, and yes, even stubbornly, it was love.

_Love_ was the culmination.

It was what made Y/N give in and what made Chris let go. It was why he filled the tub and she collected snacks and drinks from the pantry. It was how they cared for each other with foot rubs and scalp massages. It was in the way Chris made sure she was wrapped up in a towel first and in the way Y/N held him as their bodies cooled and pulses slowed.

It was what made them crave each other so ardently and why they were able to satisfy each other in a multitude of ways that had everything and also absolutely nothing to do with sex. What they had was intimacy without reservation, familiarity combined with excitement, and a profound love rooted in both trust and friendship.

Love made them reach for each other again and again beneath the soft sheets. It was love that coaxed them out of bed before dawn and what sustained them through the long flight to France. It was why Y/N surprised him with tickets to Disneyland Paris and why Chris always made sure she had fresh bread and wine whenever she wanted it.

He arranged for the motorcycle to be delivered to the house as soon they got home.

And she addressed him as _husband_ for the rest of their honeymoon.


	32. Prologue: Big, Boston Family

_**Prologue: Big, Boston Family** _

__

_Four Years Later…_

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Quin whispered fiercely.

The hard-edged question made Y/N freeze instantly; she’d been caught _again_ , and since this was the third offense in as many hours, she knew she was in big trouble. Logan kindly asked her to step away, and right on the heels of it, her best friend threatened to tell on her if she didn’t.

Y/N whirled around and hissed, “You’re going to _tattle_ on me?”

Ever the diplomat, Logan insisted they would keep her misdeeds a secret, and Quin added the caveat that he’d only keep his mouth shut if she _“sat her ass down immediately.”_ She pouted in protest, but nevertheless, tip-toed over to the corner, and settled into the rocker. 

“You’re so _mean_ to me,” Y/N huffed. 

“Who’s being mean to you?” Chris murmured as he entered the room.

She jutted an accusing finger in Quin’s direction, which prompted him to scoff, and do exactly what he said he’d do – he snitched. When Logan backed up his husband’s story, Chris crossed his arms over his chest and cursed lowly, which signaled both men to cut and run. 

“You rat bastards,” she seethed as they sauntered out.

They both made kissy noises, said they loved her, and retreated to safety. As soon as they were gone, Chris ran a hand over his beard, and shut the door. Y/N braced herself for both his disappointment and lecture, but neither came. Instead, he went over to the crib, and carefully lifted their sleeping son, George Alexander Evans, into his arms. She didn’t have to ask for her baby to be given to her, Chris just simply did it, and as soon as the infant was cradled in her embrace, she let out a contented sigh.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he insisted lowly.

“I know, I know, I just… I _need_ to hold him,” Y/N breathed. 

“You _need_ to get some fuckin’ sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when he stops being so damn cute.”

Chris snorted and pressed a kiss to her temple, “Ten minutes, wife. Then, I’m taking you back to bed.”

She nodded and trailed a fingertip over George’s brow, “Whatever you say, husband.”

It ended up being a lot longer than ten minutes, but eventually, Y/N just couldn’t stop nodding off, which meant cuddle time was over. Once George was safely settled, and under the watchful eyes of Dodger and his uncles once more, Chris guided her out of the nursery, and back to their bedroom.

_Getting_ pregnant had taken a while, but damn, had it been fun. _Being_ pregnant hadn’t exactly been a walk in the park, but with Chris – always supportive, always right by her side – she’d been fine, and even managed to power through two _additional_ weeks past her due date without much fuss.

The labor, though… _That_ had been _intense_.

Their son had put up quite a fight before he decided to grace them with his presence, and postpartum recovery had been a righteous bitch, but now, in her final days of maternity leave, all Y/N wanted to do was look at him and snuggle him.

“I finished baby-proofing everything today,” Chris told her as he settled into bed beside her. “That way, I can get it right for George when we move to our new place.”

Y/N yawned and rested her head on his chest, “That’s nice.”

He trailed a hand up and down her shoulder, “Renovating real estate is such a pain in the ass… I’m half tempted to just buy land and have a house built at this point.”

“If that’s what you want,” she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

“Maybe I’ll have a roller coaster put in out back. Throw in a couple of ponies, too. How’s that sound?”

“Chris?”

“Mmm?” 

Y/N tilted her head up and met his gaze, “If you ever hope to be _stern_ with me again – if you ever desire to hear me affectionally call you _husband_ again – if you ever _dream_ of having another child – you’ll turn off the light and hold me until I finally relax and fuckin’ fall sleep.”

He grinned, leaned down, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Enough to continue pissing off the neighbors right up until the very day we move to Boston.”

Chris stole another kiss, reminded Y/N they wouldn’t have _any_ neighbors at all at the new house, and then, dutifully shut off the bedside lamp, and held long after she’d relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms.

_Fin._


End file.
